


let the light lead you out

by irlhawke, solarsailer



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beauty and the Beast AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Victorian hand porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlhawke/pseuds/irlhawke, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarsailer/pseuds/solarsailer
Summary: After years of solitude, weighed down by a curse he could never undo, the Beast finds himself face to face with a beautiful man he's never dared to even dream of. As hope grows stronger in his tired heart, so does the fear of what this hope might do to him, should the last petal fall before their feelings have a chance to fully bloom. For as the story goes; who could ever learn to love a Beast?(or the barduil beauty and the beast AU you've all been waiting for! complete with victorian hand porn, an anxious Beast who just wants to be loved and Bard who's too good for this world)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you like this reimagining of the beauty and the beast! i wanted a more serious feel than the disney versions many of us love, but will still try to stay true to the story as much as i can :) chapter count isn't certain but an estimate, hope you stay long enough to find out!

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a beautiful king lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the King was selfish and unkind. One winters night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the King sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The King tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. 

There was no love in _him_. 

As punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast and unleashed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. As days bled into years, the King and his servants were forgotten by the world as the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose. If the King could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a _beast?_

***

It’s only been an hour or so since he entered the forest and already Bard can tell there’s a different feel to this place than when he first came to these parts, a year ago. The air is denser, almost heavy in your lungs, and all too soon the birdsong stopped, leaving him in absolute silence. Even though he came here to try to snag a deer, he has long since given up in his search and instead decided to track the slow stream towards its source. There must be a reason why the fish that spawn in these parts have started failing them. It’s not his job to solve the problems of the village, and the Master could have certainly sent out people to search for the reason behind the starvation the towns folk are suffering from, but seeing as no one else has lifted a finger, Bard has decided to do what he can. If not for the town, then for his children.

He reaches into the nook of a tree, seeing if there are any birds eggs to eat but finding nothing but dark sap, foul smelling and sticking to his fingers. He sighs and wipes them off in the moss, brown eyes never resting as he watches the dark forest around him. In here, the concept of time is different than down on the water. There, time passes but the people remain constant, almost the same as they were the day before, no matter the time of year. In here, time doesn’t move, the darkness is everlasting but the few people who dare enter change, are made different somehow by the time spent beneath the trees. Bard doesn’t fear the forest, the animals or the darkness. Maybe that’s why he isn’t as affected by the experience of entering into the depths of it. Maybe the forest just doesn’t mind his presence as much as they mind men with axes, instead of arrows. 

He leaves the path and veers to the right, finding a small animal trail of sorts through the underbrush. Something big has come this way, more than once, and he gently reaches for an arrow in his quiver and puts it to the string of his bow, keeping it ready in case an elk suddenly stumbles onto his path. He’s disappointed when no elk does, but feels his pulse quicken as he smells something strong and foul in the air. Blood and filth. Wargs. They can smell him before he smells them, however, and they’re soon upon him. Four of them. Huge, with slobbering mouths filled with rows of teeth as big as a child's fingers. 

Bard curses under his breath and ducks his head as low as he can beneath the underbrush, massive ferns giving him cover from their unblinking eyes but nothing can hide his scent from them. He quickly makes his way back down the animal path, hearing their yapping growls and heavy paws in the moss behind him. The snapping of twigs sends bolts of adrenaline through his body and he gasps as he suddenly stumbles out onto the shoreline of the river, unable to stop himself from going over the edge. The water hits him hard and cold, numbing his aching legs and freezing his blood. Before he goes under, he sees them, their gleaming eyes catching the light of the sun as they stop by the shore, watching their prey sink down below the surface. 

Bard swims for his life, the stream so strong it pulls him under more times than he can catch his breath for. The water is so terribly cold, almost like winter has already chilled it to the freezing point. For a moment he feels his body go limp, his lungs screaming for air as he kicks desperately one last time to reach the surface. It’s like the last strength his body could muster brought him the last part of the way and he feels solid ground under his worn boots. Filling his lungs with gulps of air he pulls himself onto the shore again, on the opposite from where he went in, eyes cloudy with water and exhaustion and body shaking with adrenaline. He just lies there, breathing heavily and letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment as the sound of the stream drowns out all other sounds, even the sound of his own breathing. 

When he opens his eyes again he doesn’t know how much time has passed. The air is cold around him and his clothes stiff and wet from the river, but the sun has gone from the sky and he can see a sliver of moon above him. He tries to sit and feels his body aching with every try until he slumps back against the river bed. It’s late June and still so cold he wouldn’t have been surprised to see snowflakes in the air. Or maybe he’s just too wet to keep his body temperature up. Clear thinking seems to be harder when your body is just realizing how close you were to dying not too long ago. Another moment of resting and he feels his body slowly responding to his instructions. Half an hour and he can stand, but on legs so shaky he has to lean against the foul smelling trees around him not to fall over again. He has never been on this side of the stream before, but knows there are bridges up ahead where he could cross and get back to the horse. He had been planning to stay in the forest for at least a couple of days, so getting back to the horse means getting back to dry clothes and food. He knows staying in these clothes for too long will not be good, at least not if he wants to live to see his children again, so he pulls himself forward through the quickly darkening Mirkwood forest. 

He’s been walking for what feels like hours when he sees them, pale eyes in the dark, watching him. He shakes his head, blaming raccoons or possibly hallucinations. The first he can live with, the latter is more troubling. He rubs his numb hands together, cursing quietly under his breath as he realizes he can hardly feel them anymore. The shivering has stopped by now, and he only vaguely knows he shouldn’t be happy about that because he hasn’t gotten any warmer since he got out of the water. He climbs a slope, slipping and stumbling over roots hidden under rotting leaves at his feet; he thinks desperately to himself that maybe finding shelter would take less time then finding his way back to the horse after all. Right as he thinks that, he’s sure he sees a shadow in the compact darkness to his side. Someone, or something, large. Watching him. 

His breathing comes in quick as he picks up the pace and ends up tumbling down the other side of the slope, hitting his head on the way down and he has to keep his eyes closed when he hits solid ground. He’s still dizzy when he opens them again. It doesn’t help that blinding light is suddenly enveloping him, bathing him in warmth he cannot feel through his wet clothes. He just lies there on hard stone, looking up toward the arching doorway from where the light is pouring. His eyes are so sensitive after hours in the dark that it takes them quite a while to make out what he’s actually seeing through the blinding warmth. When his eyes finally adjust, he’s up on his shaking legs, pushing himself though the crack in the doorway and only catches a glimpse of magnificent pillars of stone and a huge staircase leading into the mountain itself, before his mind gives out. He’s gone before he hits the floor. 

***

Bard stirs softly, his head hurting terribly and his whole body aching. The pain is a general sort of pain, more intense than after a hard day’s work, but still similar. But the pain he feels in his shoulder is stronger, an injury from a hard fall, possibly. He reaches for the source of discomfort and feels the swelling there, a dislocated shoulder that someone has taken care off and wrapped in bandages to keep in place. 

He opens his eyes then, confused as to where he is, only to realize that opening his eyes doesn’t help the confusion at all. He’s lying on a lush carpet of dark, moss green fabric, woven intricately with a fading pattern. In front of him, a fire roars pleasantly, heating his aching body. He slowly sits up, stretching slightly but stops as his left shoulder protests with every movement. Around his shoulders rests a thick coat of some kind. It’s old and smells of dust, but its weight is soothing none the less. He blinks a couple of times and his eyes follow the arched contours of the high ceiling, traces the outlines of heavy tree roots that have broken through the stone in places, listens to the sound of running water somewhere in the distance. The darkness from the forest hardly feels real, now that he’s in such a magnificent place. Still he pulls the coat around him harder, throwing a glance back over his shoulder to make sure there are no wargs waiting to devour him whole. There’s only an open doorway, leading into yet another room. He can see no wargs, and no dark entrance door leading back out into the night. For that he’s grateful. 

As he contemplates lying back down to let sleep take him, thinking his hosts must be friendly seeing as they’d already saved his life, a sudden whisper from the adjacent room catches his attention. He turns his head again but remains sitting, concentrating on the on what sounds like footsteps and hushed conversation echoing through the halls. 

“You really are foolish, Galion, my dear chap,” a man says, his voice betraying his old age as he speaks. “You know better than anyone that this will not go down the way you want it to.” 

“I didn’t think the Master would mind,” a younger man replies, his voice like the sound of a spring in winter. A weird thing to associate a voice with, Bard thinks to himself, still slightly confused. “Besides, he’s out. He won’t return till morning. What harm can it do, helping the poor man?” 

“What harm?” the older man asks, his voice sounding slightly outraged. “My dear boy, did you not see what he did to the kitchen that time he didn’t agree with my choice of supper? What harm? Have we been here all this time together, or have you simply been living in another dimension where he’s not what he always has been?” 

“You’re being an old man,” the younger one sighs, and Bard takes a deep breath, realizing he hasn’t been breathing. “You mean, I should have just left the man to die, right at the entrance? For the Master to find him when he returns? Tell me, Mithrandir, what would his reaction have been then?” 

“But you know you cannot explain this to him,” the old man grumbles. “How is he going to understand this man has not just simply broken into the castle?”

“I might not be able to speak to him,” the one called Galion replies and there is a resigned tone to his voice now. “But if, gods forbid, the Master returns before this man is well again, I am sure the two of them can both see and hear each other perfectly fine, wouldn’t you say?” 

The older man sighs then too and there’s no reply. Bard strains his neck to try to see any of them through the open door behind him but he can see nothing but a flickering light from a candelabra on a pedestal. After a moment of silence, he decides to get up from his quite comfortable rug, to see if he can find the people he just heard speaking. Their Master, sounding like anything but a pleasant person, might not be worth waiting around for, no matter how tired Bard is. 

“Hello,” he tries to call out as he approaches the door on weak legs but his voice is only a whisper and the warmth from the fire quickly fades as he leaves it behind. “Excuse me,” he tries again, this time slightly louder as he takes a step across the threshold. He’s standing in a corridor, long and winding, which takes off to the left and seems to lead off into the mountain. There’s no one in sight. He gingerly looks around, contemplating staying put, in case they come back but then realizing this hallway is the only one leading in and out of the room he was in. He might as well walk down it and see where it takes him. A castle, they said. He lets his aching hands run along the hard stone walls, the soft curve of intricate treelike structures that have been carved around the doorpost. He’s never seen a castle quite like this one. Given, he’s never really seen a castle in his life. 

The hallway is scarcely lit, with only a couple of candelabras along the way and he decides to grab the one closest to the door, maybe because having something to hold onto makes him feel more safe than without. It is only now that he realizes his bow, knife, even his clothes are no where to be seen. He should have realized sooner that the shirt on his back is not his own; it is far too big, almost like the dresses his daughters wear on winter mornings. The cold, golden steel of the candelabra feels good and calming in his hand and he slowly starts moving down the hallway. There are doorways leading off to the sides in some places, all with closed doors that he would rather not open. His naked feet are soundless against the hard stone floor, which he is glad for, he pulls the thick coat closer around him to protect himself from the chill in the air as he approaches a large arch at the end of the hallway. 

“Hello,” he calls out, this time louder, more confident, but the sound is instantly swallowed by the sheer size of the cavernous room before him. Moonlight shifts in above him as tall stone pillars, in the shape of roots or trees, raise the ceiling to such a height that it takes his breath away. Across a narrow bridge in front of him, a waterfall plunges into the depths below and he takes a step back into the hallway again, fearing that he might somehow lose his balance from only looking at the drop down. In the middle of the great hall, a raised platform with what looks like the most extravagant throne in the world, is supported by yet more pillars. To his relief, the throne seems empty. 

“Don’t be frightened,” a sudden voice says next to him and Bard is indeed frightened, so much so that he jumps where he stands and whips around, dropping the candelabra on the floor. “I’m sorry, it really wasn’t my intention to scare you,” the man before him says, and although Bard recognizes the voice as belonging to the one called Galion, he still has a hard time connecting the two. The person before him looks tired, skin pale and eyes dark. He was beautiful once, he still is to some extent, but only by looking at him you can tell he’s been through hard times. But as Bard doesn’t answer, just looks at him in stunned silence, Galion smiles gently and inclines his golden head, his face momentarily shining with beauty at that faint glimmer of a smile. “Forgive me, I have completely forgotten my manners,” he says and meets Bard’s eyes. “My name is Galion, good Lord, may I ask for yours?” 

“Bard,” is all he can reply, but hurriedly inclines his head as well, unwilling to seem rude when this person has saved his life. 

“Why don’t you come with me, Lord Bard, and I shall see to it that you get some food into your belly,” Galion nods and Bard has no say in the matter as Galion turns and starts walking back towards the room in which Bard woke up in. 

“I’m not a lord,” Bard mumbles on the way, not sure if that is of any importance but it feels important to him. He might have had the chance to be once, but he’d never felt comfortable with the title. Not because the responsibility was too heavy for him to carry, but because he felt underserving of it. Being called a lord in a castle felt even worse. Galion only nods in return, meeting his eyes across his shoulder for a moment before continuing down the corridor in silence. They pass one of the doors that was locked when Bard walked the other way, which of course explains why he was so easy to sneak up on.

“Here we are,” Galion nods and this time pulls up a chair for Bard to rest in by the fire. He does so, unable to deny the aching of his legs any longer. He sighs tiredly and sinks further into the soft fabric of the armchair, his eyelids growing heavy almost instantly. “I will fetch you something to eat,” Galion says, but his voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Wait here.” 

Bard nods but his eyes are already closed. He doesn’t know how long he sits like that, how long his head gets to rest against the large, comfortable chair, but soon he can hear those hushed whispers again. He doesn’t open his eyes, though, only sits there in the warmth of the fire and listens to Galion and the one called Mithrandir as they argue. 

“…and in the Master’s chair!” Mithrandir exclaims, outrage in his voice. “This has gone on for far too long, you said he would be gone by the time the Master returns!” 

“There will be no trouble,” Galion soothes but he sounds frustrated, or maybe unsure. “The sun is still down for hours, no harm in feeding the man before we send him on his way. We took him in, we shouldn’t send him out in wet clothes with no food in his stomach.” He sounds very sure of himself this time. Mithrandir doesn’t sound convinced. 

“Wet clothes? Don’t tell me you’ve taken it upon yourself to also have his things washed and dried? Lad, you have a heart of gold but a brain of worms! That will take all night, and most of the day! Where do you intend to hide him, hm?” 

“Hide him?” Galion asks and now Bard can hear them entering the room he is in. “How do you know the Master won’t allow him to stay? Maybe he realizes this is the only way he can speak to us, if nothing else.”

“Oh, dear lad,” Mithrandir sighs. “This is the same man we’re speaking of, isn’t it? At the best of times he might be a logical thinker, but you know as well as I how quick to anger--” Mithrandir falls silent as Galion approaches Bard, almost like he only now realizes Bard can hear him. 

“Bard,” Galion says gently and Bard opens his eyes, feigning sleep, maybe to spare them the embarrassment of realizing he’s heard them argue. “Here is some tea for you.” 

Bard can hear Mithrandir scoff behind the chair and as he thanks Galion, he can tell the two are exchanging looks over the top of the armchair. He slowly drinks from the beautiful cup he’s handed, an ornate pattern of leaves in the ceramic, soft shapes under his burning fingertips. He feels confused still, worried too. This Master sounds like someone he should aim to avoid, but his body is still drowsy and weak. Making it back to his horse like this would surely make him an easy prey for more than wargs in the forest. 

“Bard,” Galion says after a while of silence, gesturing for the person behind the chair to step into the light of the fire. “Meet Mithrandir, advisor to the Master of this castle,” he then says and Bard nods as a tall but bent over old man steps into his line of sight. Where Galion is wearing clothes in greens and browns, fitting his body perfectly, Mithrandir is wearing a grey coat of an inexpensive looking kind, his unkempt beard and braid reaching almost down to where is bellybutton would be and his eyebrows so bushy they reach further than his pointy nose. The eyes in that old face are alert, however, and he looks into Bard’s face with keen interest, but also distrust.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Bard says, glad of the tea which seems to have warmed his throat enough to help him speak up. “I am truly grateful, I think you saved my life.”

“You were very cold when we found you,” Galion agrees, but he is looking at Mithrandir when he says it, almost as if he’s hinting at being right. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Bard quickly adds when he sees the old man’s eyes grow dark at this slight. “Truly, all I wish for is to return home, as quickly as possible.” 

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Mithrandir nods, seemingly satisfied with Bard’s answer. “Drink your tea and eat your food,” he then continues, to Bard’s surprise and Galion’s as well, it seems. “You have a long trek back to Esgaroth ahead of you, and I for one would not send you into the cold without a bite to eat first.” One could assume he only said that to sound kind, but Bard can tell there’s compassion in his eyes as he inclines his head in Bard’s direction. Bard is just about to convey his thanks, maybe comment on how good the tea was or possibly say he can return the favor someday when there is a loud crash to his side which makes him spill hot tea all over his hands and lap. Galion has dropped the tray on which he’d been storing some food for Bard, and as Bard looks at him he sees worry and terror grow on his face. The room is absolutely silent. Bard looks to the other side, searching Mithrandir’s expression for answers, but the old man has his eyes averted and says nothing. 

“There is a stranger in the castle,” a voice suddenly says from behind his chair and Bard takes a gulp of breath, almost as if he’s been submerged in that cold, dark water again, fighting for his life to breathe. The voice is rough, almost like a guttural growl and it fills Bard with both the instinct to flee and to cower where he sits. 

“Master, allow me to explain,” Galion begins, the tone in his voice pleading but Bard doesn't look at him, only stares into the fire before him with growing unease. He can hear footsteps, hard footfalls, against the stone floor. “The gentleman was lost in the woods, he was cold and wet...” For some reason Galion falls silent and Mithrandir stirs in Bard’s periphery. 

“Sire,” the old man says. “Please hear us, this man is...” 

“It’s no use,” Galion mumbles, the interruption causing Mithrandir to fall silent as well. “I’m sorry, Bard,” he then says, as he slowly backs away. “He won’t listen.” 

Bard doesn’t understand, not at all, but he realizes too late that he has been left to his own devices and that the person who’s just entered the room is heading straight for the chair he is in. He braces for some sort of impact, to be torn from the chair by some gnarly man who’s come to kill an intruder in his halls. Bard swallows, images of his children’s faces flashing before his eyes. He knows then, instinctively, that he is in more danger now than with the wargs. Wargs he knows how to handle. This is like the water, strong and deep, pulling him under, taking his breath. Before he can finish the thought, the chair is suddenly whipped around by strong arms and his breath is truly gone from him as he stares at the Master of the castle. 

What strikes him first, strangely enough, are the grey, piercing eyes that threaten to devour him the longer he drowns in them. They belong to a man, a person and he can feel it so strongly in his gut that he shivers. Because those eyes, no matter how sentient, are not attached to any man, nor any animal Bard has ever seen in his life. He is tall, more than seven feet. His back is bent, but he’s still taller than any man Bard has ever come across. But it isn’t his height that sets him apart from what can be regarded as normal, as this man is covered in fur, his big eyes resting in a face vaguely resembling that of a buck, crowned by antlers more impressive than any of those that decorate the Master of Esgaroth’s halls. His arms, thick and strong, hands made for killing, fingers ending in thick claws that could rip out a man’s heart in one quick motion. Draped over his shoulders is some kind of cloth, which might have been a beautiful coat once, but is now not more than dirty rags covering his back. Bard stops his eyes from falling to this Beast’s feet, as he realizes that acting like he’s scared for his life, assessing the utter danger he is in, might actually do him more harm than good.

“Who are you?” the Beast growls, low and vibrating in his powerful chest. Bard’s mouth has turned into a desert. He couldn’t possibly answer even if he wanted to. “What are you doing here?” the Beast continues, his voice only slightly more than a growl and before Bard knows it, he has been ripped out of the armchair and is held into the air in front of the Beast, feet dangling. Bard’s eyes search for Galion or Mithrandir in the darkness of the room’s edges but can only see the unmoving shapes of their bodies. He doesn’t know them but still feels as if he has been betrayed, left to this Beast’s devices without them as much as lifting a finger. “Answer me!” the Beast suddenly roars and as Bard is dropped to the ground, hitting his knees quite hard against the stone floor, he is jolted back into himself, regaining some of this most basic functions. 

“I was lost in the woods,” he explains, his voice sounding small and weak but instead of running or cowering he straightens his back and looks the Beast straight in the eyes. “I came here seeking shelter. Had I known I was unwelcome I would not have made myself comfortable or accepted the hospitality of your staff. I’m sorry, for the inconvenience I’ve caused you.”

Bard doesn’t know if it is his own courteousness or the fact that he’s staring straight into the Beast’s grey eyes, but it feels almost like the Beast shrinks before his eyes. Not by much, not even visibly. Only that his posture seems to lessen somewhat, his face relaxing, arms slowly sinking to his sides. The Beast breaks eye contact slowly, gazing around the room as if looking for something he cannot see. Bard lets his own eyes wander as well, but down the Beast’s body now, thick thighs covered in fur and hoofed feet like a devil. He doesn’t stop until he realizes the Beast is watching him again. 

“What are you staring at?” The words leave the Beast’s mouth as if a curse spat at an enemy. Bard realizes his mistake just a little too late as the tall form of the Beast’s whole body comes closer to his, leaning over him in all his height, suddenly larger than ever. 

“Nothing,” he hurriedly answers and takes another quick gulp of air, drowning in grey oceans. “I meant no harm, truly. I only needed a place to warm myself.”

“I’ll give you a place to stay!” the Beats growl in such a way it sends cold shivers down Bard’s spine. Once again he’s then suddenly lifted into the air, as effortlessly as if he was a child, the Beast storming out the room with a firm grip on the collar of the coat Bard’s wearing. He feels the fear grip him more firmly, seeing before him the great hall with its sunken floor, so far down he would certainly die if the Beast decided to throw him into the abyss. It seems, however, the Beast has other plans and takes off to the left in the corridor, through a door instead of heading straight for what Bard expects is the main chamber. For a moment, he thinks of escaping, making himself smaller and slipping out of the heavy coat he’s been lifted in, but where would he go? Back out into the dark? In nothing but a linen shirt too big for him, bare feet and with toes still white from the cold? He hears the heavy footfalls of the Beast next to him, can smell him from this close. There’s something resembling the scent of forest on him, the scent of moss and decay but not the kind that makes you wrinkle your nose in disgust in the spring. If he had been a man, maybe Bard would have even enjoyed this scent, but the seriousness of the situation pulls his attention away from even considering the pleasantness of it. 

“Here,” the Beast says as he enters into what can only be described as a dungeon. A very ornate dungeon with beautiful stone pillars reaching for the high, arched ceiling and water glistening down the opposite wall in a waterfall which takes water into the cells via small channels in the stone floor, but a dungeon nonetheless. “Be sure to enjoy our hospitality.” 

With a thud, Bard hits the ground beneath him in a cell, stone floor splitting his tired skin and he remains on the floor, too tired to get up. He looks back at the Beast, eyes meeting for only the shortest of moments before the Beast turns and leaves him there. Bard doesn’t know what to do, if he should say something, if there’s anything at all he could say to persuade a Beast to see reason, to let him go. Instead he just sits there on the floor, listening to the sound of hooves echoing against the stone, slowly washed away by the sound of continuously flowing water. 

***

He must have dozed off, doesn’t know where he is at first when he hears the sound of metal against metal. He rubs his eyes, mouth dry and knees pounding but then suddenly stops mid motion as he feels stone behind his back. He’s still sitting on the floor, back to the hard wall of his cell, but the door is open. Galion is standing outside. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his head bowed and his delicate hands clasped around a ring of keys. “The Master, he is...”

“A hard man to handle?” Bard finishes the sentence and supports himself against the stone as he gets to his feet. “He seems pleasant enough to me,” he then adds, not sure why he’s being sarcastic in a dire situation like this, but at least his prison cell is open. 

“Hm,” Galion mumbles, maybe in understanding, maybe sarcasm is just lost on him. “Come with me, sir, I’ll take you to your room.” 

“My room?” Bard asks, surprised now. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be rescued, smuggled out of this stone castle through some secret tunnel maybe, but he still expected to be brought out into the light again. Not be given a room.

“The Master has decided to house you in one of the guest rooms this castle provides,” Galion explains, meeting Bard’s eyes this time, offering him a strong arm to lean on, which Bard accepts. The floor outside his cell is only so wide, before abruptly disappearing at their feet into a drop almost as high as in the main hall. He can’t afford to be unsteady out here. 

“The Master has decided?” Bard echoes, unable to stop himself sounding skeptical. 

“Well,” Galion half grins, half sighs. “I decided for him, he just has to live with my decision.” 

“Ah,” Bard mumbles in return. “Like you decided to let me stay and warm myself in the Master’s chair? Which worked out swimmingly for me, if you didn’t notice.” Had he been in a slightly less dire situation, Bard might have sounded more joking, even teasing as he speaks, but his words are harsh and accusing now, entirely without him meaning for them to be. 

“You are right,” Galion nods, voice hinting at shame beneath his quite blank expression. “I owe you an apology, sir. The Master can be unpredictable even when he’s at his best. I shouldn’t have taken his approval for granted.” 

“Maybe standing up for me could have helped,” Bard shrugs, even though he has a feeling he’s wrong. Servants standing up to their Masters usually causes more trouble than it’s worth, especially for the poor servants. No matter what kind of person this Beast is when he’s not angry at intruders in his castle, being an outspoken servant might not be your best move. 

“Would have, if I could,” Galion replies and then falls silent, leaving Bard to wonder what on earth that could mean. 

After walking, Bard half stumbling with his weight leaning against Galion’s surprisingly sturdy body, for at least fifteen minutes, they reach a corridor Bard can feel is leading upwards into the mountainside. He takes a few moments to take in his surroundings, broken stone where water is gushing in like blood from a wound, pooling at the base of walls that seem to need more love than any fishing hut in Esgaroth. He can smell the castle now, decay and forest, moss and dark water. The scent is heavy everywhere, wet stone carrying it like a memory, beautiful carvings on the walls almost completely covered in vines and dead things. 

The room he’s brought to is bigger than the bedroom he sleeps in at home and as Galion leaves him by the door to make ready the bed, Bard takes in the size of it with a slack jaw. There are some kind of vents in the ceiling, through which sunlight beams into the room, illuminating the worn down four poster bed in the room’s center. A canopy of soft spun silk covers the bed itself and beautifully carven furniture have been placed here, almost completely unused. 

“Indeed a nice prison cell,” Bard hears himself saying and it earns a short laugh from Galion by the bed. He hadn’t planned on sounding so carefree, but decides it might be better to seem confident than frightened. “Better than the one I just left, anyway.” At this, Galion only meets his eyes and nods without reply.

Bard crosses his arms and feels his shoulder aching again, reaching absentmindedly to run a hand over it. He catches Galion still watching him, standing still where he had been working with clean sheets. Bard nods sideways to indicate the bandages around his aching shoulder.

“Do I have you to thank for this?”

“Yes,” Galion admits and bends back over the bed, hands working quickly. “You were quite a mess, you know. Thought you might not pull through there, for an hour or so.”

“I can only imagine,” Bard replies and takes a few steps into the room, running a hand over the carven chair closest to him, trying hard not to think about how close he might have been to dying. Now that the Beast isn’t close by, the air is easier to breathe at least, and even though he suspects it might be a while before he can figure out a way to escape, at least Galion still seems decent enough. “Where is the Master’s room, I mean, is it close?”

“You don’t have to worry about him,” Galion answers and brushes some dust off his clothes, speaking casually as if Bard hadn’t been dragged to a dungeon by the Beast only hours ago. “He lives at the opposite side of the castle and he rarely comes to these parts. As you might have realized, we don’t have many guests.”

“You don’t say,” Bard scoffs back and walks over to the bed when Galion indicates for him to do so. He sits down on it, feeling himself sink down pleasantly and deciding on lying down before Galion says anything else. “And I’m not worried,” he says as he closes his eyes, breathing heavily against the covers. “He’s big and cruel, I’ve met big and cruel men before.”

“Men, maybe,” Galion replies from somewhere over by the door. “But you’ve never met anyone like him before. Rest now, sir.”

The door closes gently behind him when he leaves and Bard sighs loudly, something he seldom does since having children. The little ones tend to think he’s mad or disappointed in them if he walks around sighing in the house. Here, no children can hear him so he supposes sighing is allowed. The children are fine, he tells himself, nails digging into his palms slightly. They know he was planning to stay in the forest for at least three days. They don’t have to worry yet. He can hear Galion’s soft footsteps as they slowly fade outside his door and focuses on them to keep himself grounded in the otherwise silent room. He can almost hear the blood pounding in his ears, a river flowing through his veins. The children are fine. They don’t have to worry yet.

A sudden surge of energy goes through him and he gets out of bed so quickly he gets dizzy. He stands for a moment, hand clutching one of the bedposts to stay upright. He refuses to be a prisoner in this place, refuses to stay here without any understanding of what’s going on. He doesn’t know if he intends to find Galion or a way out, possibly something else. All he knows is that he can’t stay in here, tucked away in a corner of the castle, forgotten. There is a pile of clothes resting on the chair, where Galion must have left them without Bard realizing. He decides walking around the castle in a coat five sizes too big and a shirt reaching his knees might not be a good idea so instead he undresses as quickly as possible, gooseflesh spreading down his arms, back and thighs, and pulls on the more appropriately sized shirt, pants and tunic he’s been presented with. To say they fit him perfectly would be a gross overstatement, but at least they’re loose, rather than too tight. His boots, the ones he’d worn when he left home what seems like years ago already, stand by the door, clean and almost completely dry. They feel good on his feet after walking around with them bare.

The hallway outside, similar in width and look as the others he’s been in—only this one has more water running down the walls—is empty and silent when he steps out into it. He feels that shiver run down his spine again at the thought of the Beast somewhere out there in the castle. Not only because the Beast is clearly not the nicest creature to be around but because he finds himself curious to find out more about him, and he worries his own curiosity might get the better of him this time. This has always been a problem of his, being too curious for his own good, but it has never involved a roaring Beast before. 

With his knees still aching, he makes his way down the hallway until it branches off to the sides. He picks the pathway to the right for no particular reason, feeling the slow descent in his muscles with every step, sending a strained sort of discomfort up his spine. After passing a couple of rooms, leaving them unexplored, he takes a door to the left, entering into a vast dining hall with tables fit for a whole banquet but now abandoned, chairs upended and broken plates on the floor. He stands there for a moment, filtered sunlight falling in from hidden openings somewhere above, wondering how long ago a party was held here, if songs were sung or if this castle was never meant for feasts and guests. If it had been, why had no one mentioned an old castle in the forest? Did no one in Esgaroth know of it? Or were they just scared enough to know not to go near it? He walks slowly down the long table, boots crunching as he steps over withered leaves that have somehow found their way down here, through openings and vents, from the canopy above. It takes him far too long to notice the shadow watching him from the other end of the room, and by the time he sees it, he’s already halfway there.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, heart rate elevating immediately as he realizes this might be the Beast, catching him off guard and not at all sure of what to say in his defense. Soon though, as a beam of light shifts and the person moves, he realize there are no antlers and their height is not great enough to equal the Beast’s. In front of him stands a woman, tall and proud, red hair cascading down her back and a bow slung over her shoulder. He stands there just watching her but she says nothing in reply to his apology. He clears his throat and grasps for something to say that will break the silence threatening to overtake them both. “So where is everyone?” The question doesn’t exactly make sense, but it is something he’s been wondering ever since Galion took him from the cell. If this is a castle, then where are all the servants? 

“Beg your pardon?” She replies, no confusion in her face but evident in her voice. She regards him, her head leaning slightly to the side and her green eyes taking in all aspects of his being, from the aching shoulder to the dirty hair and ill fitting clothes. 

“The servants,” he explains and meets her eyes head on as she returns there, done with her inspection it seems. “So far I’ve only seen two other people, and that’s not counting him. I thought a castle needed more… people.” 

“So far I’ve seen no other guests in this place for years,” she answers back but there’s a quirk to her lips, an almost grin that takes Bard off guard. She seems amused by him being there, or maybe by something else. Galion had looked at him with compassion, but not this one. “What use are people in a castle with no one to work for?” 

“You don’t work for the Master, then?” he asks, watching as she steps away from the wall she has been leaning against. She takes a couple of steps towards him, eyes still surveying him with interest. 

“I do,” she answers plainly. “But there aren’t many left who are loyal, therefore there are not many servants.” 

“Did everyone leave?”

“They were given a choice,” she nods, says it casually but he can swear, for a moment, the look in her eyes betrays her. She is speaking too freely of things she shouldn’t be speaking of. “Were you?”

“Given a choice?” he scoffs. He didn’t mean to and he can see her nose wrinkling with slight disapproval at his tone. “I almost drowned and your friend saved me.” 

“My friend?” she says, surprised. “The Master?” 

“No,” he quickly explains and reaches to scratch his neck in slight discomfort. She looked so surprised that all the mystery about her melted away, if only for a second. “I mean Galion.”

“Oh, I should have known,” she nods thoughtfully, eyes still surveying him. There’s something about the way she looks at him that makes it seem like she’s searching for something within him. Maybe she finds him lacking. “The Master wouldn’t go out of his way to save a stranger.”

“Why be loyal to someone so cruel?” The question leaves his mouth before his mind has had a chance to process it properly and he immediately regrets his decision to speak before thinking. She looks annoyed at first, eyes narrowing and chin rising defiantly, but then her expression softens and she inclines her head in his direction. 

“Follow me,” is all she says before turning, her body moving so smoothly it looks like she’s dancing, leaving through a doorway behind her.

Bard doesn't necessarily want to follow her, but his curiosity is taking over again. That soft look in her eyes means something and it feels important for him to find out what. He walks behind her down the winding paths of the castle, suspecting she’s bringing him through the servants corridors because these are narrower and less ornate than the corridors and halls he’s seen so far. At one point he hears the roaring waterfall somewhere close by; he suspects it’s the one which cascades down into the abyss of the great hall somewhere to his right. There are torches lighting up the path before them, casting them both in a warm, familiar light. Bard tries to keep up, but his aching knees soon make themselves known and he slows down without a word. He’s already insulted her by questioning her reasons for being loyal to a Master he doesn’t truly know. He doesn’t need to annoy her by complaining about her lightness of foot as well. She vanishes down a staircase hewn from the hard stone and he slows down slightly, holding onto the stone wall to his right, heart pounding as he suspects this must be somewhere at the opposite end of the castle. 

“Are you coming?” she asks, almost sternly from down below.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice seeming to echo more than hers. That doesn’t make sense to him and he brushes the thought out of his mind as quickly as he thinks it. “Stairs just take some time for me to...” He stops speaking as she returns up the stairs to look at him. 

“Do you wish for me to carry you?” The question is asked so seriously that he’s taken aback, but when he looks up to meet her eyes, he realizes she is grinning at him. He only scoffs in return and she laughs dryly but waits for him as he slowly makes his way downstairs. 

When his feet finally hit the last step, they’re standing in a wide room, but not a great hall. This room looks private. Thick stone pillars raise the ceiling, shaped like trees or possibly roots, made from the carven stone of the cave. There’s gentle torchlight coming from small braziers and candelabra around the room and a spiral staircase to the left leading upward, toward a great shimmer of light somewhere above. Below this staircase lies a dark pool, completely circular, reflecting the light from above. Bard takes a slow step toward the water, seeing no end to it, unable to understand if the water is just too dark or too deep for a bottom to be visible. 

“Where are we?” he asks but she doesn’t reply, and he already knows the answer. There is a bed to the side, an ornate one with beautifully carven details and silk sheets. It doesn’t look used, at least not by a creature so big he wouldn’t fit in it without putting notches in the bedposts with his horns. Bard looks around the room, trying to find some indication as to where a Beast would sleep in a room this beautiful but finds nothing. He looks at the woman again, she’s standing by the staircase leading up and when she catches his eye, she indicates to the space above without a word. He can take a hint. 

The staircase is plain but sturdy and it takes him toward the sky, he realizes. Above him, too far ahead if his knees were given a choice, lies a plateau with the brilliant blue skies reaching out above his head. There are snowflakes in the air, which strikes him as odd at this time of year, surely this place could not be as high up as the peak of a proper mountain? He takes the last step which brings him to the plateau itself, eyes adjusting to the bright light before he realizes there is a makeshift bed up here. Blankets spread out on the floor, some snow already covering it. All around this space there are papers, thrown about and torn, some of it seeming to make up the bed itself. The floor itself is shaped like a crescent moon with no balustrade hindering a clumsy person from falling into the water below. On the far side of the platform there’s an ornate pedestal and above it, a single rose seemingly floating in mid air inside a perfect glass dome. It gives off a faint shimmer and as he watches it, a petal slowly falls from it. 

“It is a hard thing, being loyal to a person who cannot see you, even a person you love,” the woman suddenly says behind him and he turns, surprised; he didn’t hear her come up the stairs behind him. “Given the choice, many would forsake old loyalties and abandon their posts, maybe even you.” 

Bard watches the rose as she speaks, feels strange when he does so. It feels magical; he’s seen enough magic to know how it can trap, hurt and kill you, knows this rose isn’t just here for decoration but doesn’t know how to ask her about it. It’s like he can’t bring forth the words he wants to say, so instead he tears his eyes away from it and bends to pick up a half scorched piece of paper from the ground. The words are almost completely burned away, as if someone truly tried erasing them from existence, but he can tell they were part of a poem, hand written on delicate paper. 

“Do you love him?” he finally brings himself to ask, feeling her eyes watching him, boring into him silently. 

“He was once like a father to me,” she answers, her voice simple, almost cold. “But loss turned him selfish and unkind, and yet, here I am. Loyal.” 

“That’s commendable,” Bard nods, trying not to question why someone would ever be loyal to a Beast, how this Beast could have been like a father to anyone at all. All fathers are of course different, but this one? Bard shudders at the thought. A strong temper, claws for nails, paired with the mischievousness of children? He looks at her then, sees her gaze on the rose now and wants to ask about it, but cannot find the words. He grips the piece of paper harder in his hand and looks down at it again. “Did he write this?” 

“He did,” she says, without looking back at him. “When he was another man, in another life.”

Bard reads the words again, big words with meaning and heart, beautiful strokes with a pen in a trained hand. How could claws accomplish such fine words, on paper as delicate as this? How could claws not scratch and tear everything they touched? How could a man change from a poet, into something that isn’t a man at all? 

They stand in silence then, for a long time, just watching the petals fall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is written from the Beast's point of view, the plan is for the POV to change from chapter to chapter, but I will let you know at the beginning of each one! the chapter is also shorter than the first because I felt it needed to end where it did :) the length of chapters will sometimes vary but probably be longer than this one
> 
> I hope you like it! :)

He saw him, fighting for his life in the stream as if life was worth enough for him to fight against the current. He knew then that this man would live; with or without help he would be able to survive even the force of the river itself. He watched as the man made it onto the muddy shore, exhausted and freezing, saw him stumble through the forest with unseeing eyes. There was fight in him still, so much so that stopping him in his tracks would be pointless. He would find a way to survive, no matter what was done to him. 

The Beast stalks the halls of his castle, head spinning with images of shivering hands and large brown eyes by the light of the fire. He hates this man for coming to his home, invading his darkness with talks of hospitality and warmth. There is no hospitality to be had, no warmth here, not anymore. Yet, he was the one who left the man unharmed on his way through the great doors of his home, saw him collapse on the floor before invisible arms lifted him away into the glow of the fire lit rooms. He was the one who let him live when the Running River didn’t take him, who waited in the cold darkness until he was sure the man had rested, warmed himself, before he himself stormed inside. Now, he tells himself he waited just to see a glimpse of another person, to see the strength in the arms of a servant he has long since forgotten the face of, hear a voice as clear as day converse with the murmur that he knows are his people but cannot for the life of him hear. He knows, though, this is not the only reason he let this man, Bard, into his sacred place. 

Bard is the first person he’s seen in years. He fought against death as if he had a personal vendetta against her and now he’s here, in the castle. Against too many odds to count. The Beast hates the hope that flickers within his heaving chest, pushes it down with claws from the inside, growls as it refuses to die, no matter how much he swallows it, hides it, trembles with it. Even now, as he feels it flutter like the heart of an anxious child, he feels the petals fall above him, weights pulling him down, clouding his mind, birthing rage within his bones. He leans his forehead against the cold stone of a pillar, any pillar. His claws dig into it, marking it against his will. Breathe, he tells himself, head pounding, petals falling. Breathe. 

He feels a shift in the air next to him and he whips around but of course, like all other times, the space is empty. He sighs and searches the spot in front of him for any clues, any sign of life but there are none. Anger bubbles within him again and he squeezes his claws into his palms, rather than punching a hole in the wall. He’s done that far too many times already.

“Forgive me,” he says into the void, voice low and gravely, still sounding so unlike his own even after all these years. “You’re presence is felt, and appreciated. However, your council would have served me better.” 

As always, there is no answer and the Beast feels his claws breaking through the thick skin of his palms, smells the blood in the air. An instinct stirs inside him, stronger than it has been before, stronger because petals are falling above him. He is not a predator, even though he might look frightening enough for one and might be quick to anger like never before. This instinct tells him to flee the danger, pull away from the scent as if to keep himself alive. He looks down at his palms, watches the red drops pressing out of him, eager to enter into the world, dripping down onto the stone floor. He feels a shift in the air again, a worry he’s learned to recognize over the years, a slight breeze brushes over his hands. 

“I will be fine,” he assures the invisible presence of his advisor, knows who it is even though he can’t see him. “Some days are just harder than others,” he says out loud, even though he doesn’t mean to. The familiar wave of guilt hits him as he turns away, pulls his broken coat tighter around himself and leaves the room without another word. He did this. He deserves this. They don’t. 

The staircase down to his quarters is hard beneath his hooves, makes rough sounds throughout the castle as he walks. He ignores the sound, holding onto the candelabra he grabbed on the way. He knows he’s running out of time, not at this very moment but soon enough to embrace it. For years he was left in despair, desperate for the sound of another person’s voice, seeing someone smile and not just hearing the faintest echo of laughter through his halls. With the years, however, he’d grown used to the silence, the emptiness. An end to this empty feeling where his heart should be had seemed welcome to him. He remembers the times when these rooms were filled to the brim with lives, glistening eyes in the moonlight, a small pair of hands in his own as they spun around the floor to joyful music. Now the instruments lay broken, forgotten in a corner somewhere. No hands were in his. No sparkling eyes. Embracing the end had seemed like the next step, the most logical thing to do when he had nothing left to fight for. 

Hope. He’d been holding onto that small sliver of hope. Hoping someone would remember him, hoping someone would come stumbling in and not mind the state of him, see past the horns and the hooves and the terror they would of course feel when they first look him in the eyes and realize they can’t make sense of what he is. But the hope had been a crushing weight and he had thought he was done hoping. Until now. 

There he is. 

The words are so easily thought, said, carved into stone. There he is. This man who almost drowned but made it back to the shore without help, even as the Beast had already decided to reach for him, swim if he had to, just to touch another person again before his time was over. This man who spoke to him, eye to eye without flinching. It had been all the Beast could do not to reach out, let a clawed finger trace the outline of his set jaw, just to make sure he was even real. 

He flexes his fingers. He’s not even sure if he remembers what it feels like, to touch another person’s skin, to be touched. Certainly not in this body. He sighs and scratches the base of his antlers, ignoring the soft bed he used to sleep in before his life changed, heading up the steps to the crescent moon shaped platform above the pool of stars. As soon as he reaches the last couple of steps he stops in his tracks. 

There he is. 

He should have been able to smell him, but maybe the fact that he stands outside masked his scent. Now when they’re standing on the same level, however, the Beast can almost taste him in the air. For a moment the both of them just stand there, looking at each other. The Beast can see a flicker of fear across the man’s face, see him throwing a glance at the staircase, looking for the best way to escape. Smart. The Beast doesn’t know what to do, seeing as he had planned on just letting the man escape in the night, or possibly talked to him eventually if the man didn’t notice the front door never locked at night. This was too early. He had no idea what to say. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in years and expected a reply.

“Dinner,” the Beast suddenly hears himself say, almost aggressively and he curses himself for not even knowing how to control his voice. “Do you eat it?” 

The question comes out all wrong and he realizes too late. The man seems to have realized too and at first he just has a quizzical look on his face, then some sort of amusement takes its place and he lets out a strangled giggle sound. The Beast feels his chest burn from what he assumes is humiliation. He should be angry, but just to get a response from someone else was better than nothing. 

“Will you eat dinner with me?” he tries again, better this time, almost feeling proud of himself. “Tonight?” 

The man glances to the side, somewhere next to him and the Beast sees a shimmer in the air there. A rush of cold, unwanted emotions, flood his senses and he has to once again push his claws into his palms. Someone else is here, with the man. He is curious who’d bring him here and quickly realizes there’s only one person who would be foolish enough to bring an outsider up here. 

“Tauriel,” he says before letting the man answer the question, seeming to startle him slightly with the abruptness of his command. “Can you make ready a table for me and my guest, and make sure he finds his away back to his room?” It isn’t as much a command really, as it is a request. There is no way for him to hear her reply, the curse makes sure of that, but he can see the shimmer flicker and vanish, can watch the man’s eyes follow this invisible person as she walks down the steps behind the Beast. They’re alone. 

“I accept, I guess,” the man then says and the Beast is pulled from a deep well of regret and sadness after having felt a gust of wind through his fur when Tauriel left them. “If that was a request in need of an answer, that is.” 

“Well then,” the Beast nods, unwilling to make smalltalk when he hasn’t prepared for it properly. He turns and is just about to walk back down the stairs when the man speaks again, his voice clear like a song in the Beast’s unaccustomed ears.

“My name is Bard,” is what he says and the Beast looks back over his shoulder quizzically. 

“Yes?” 

“What is yours?”

The question is so simple, asked with interest rather than a sense of duty. Until this moment the Beast had forgotten how introductions were made, it seems. He stands there silently, grasping for a name, buried deep within his core, along with memories he has been fighting for his life to forget. If he wills himself to remember, pushes his own self through the anger and the despair, there will be no going back and he knows it. He turns a little more towards Bard, acknowledging his being now, seeing a person instead of just a man. That small, irredeemable flutter of hope pulls at his heart now too, eyes tracing strong shoulders, claws twitching at the thought of soft skin beneath them. His eyes fall to the rose on the table behind Bard, so innocent and yet draining the life from his very soul. It’s foolish to hope, he thinks and turns away from Bard again, hooves echoing against the stone steps as he begins his descent. It’s foolish to think a man could make a difference, when the Beast has already resigned himself to embrace the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is written from Bard's perspective and is of the slightly longer kind!

After meeting the Beast up on the plateau, Bard feels slightly confused as he waits in his room for dinner to be announced. When realizing him and the woman, Tauriel, were about to be found out lurking around in the Beast’s bedroom he had been sure he would be dragged back to a hard cell or possibly have his neck snapped. Instead, he had received a dinner invitation. The Beast had seemed surprised to find him there but not angry. If anything he’d seemed too unprepared for company to say anything coherent. Bard, on the other hand had felt the fear just drain away at the look of him, the Beast’s hands flexing in what seemed like a nervous way by his sides, eyes fixed on him in surprise. Who this Beast, this person, is he doesn’t know, but the look on Tauriel’s face when the Beast asked him to dinner convinced Bard to accept. She had gone from looking stern and without emotion to completely dropping all defenses, tears in her eyes. There must be something here that he’s not seeing, some part of the big picture that might not be meant for his eyes to notice. He sighs and sinks down on the side of the bed, his head pounding. This whole situation seems more complicated than he had first believed it to be. But maybe being invited to dinner instead of dragged off to a dungeon gives him the opportunity to at least discuss his imprisonment with his host. That is always a silver lining to this lingering storm cloud.

The children don’t know yet, he tells himself like a mantra, hearing soft footfalls outside his bedroom door. They don’t have to worry yet.

Tauriel waits for him in the doorway, assessing the clothes he’s now wearing, quirking her brow. He steels himself for a rude comment about how they don’t fit him properly, how she preferred the other ones to this more expensive version, gold embroidery in the hem and silk thread used in every seam. At least this is what Bard feels about the new clothes Galion put out for him, but Tauriel says nothing, only starts walking down the hallway when she sees him getting up to follow her.

“My Lady Tauriel,” Bard begins after following her for a couple of minutes through the winding back passages of the castle. The snort this earns him flushes his cheeks. She doesn’t have to say it plainly for him to understand that she does not appreciate the honorific. “Forgive me,” he quickly adds and starts over. “Tauriel, the Beast really can’t see you, can he?”

She looks back over her shoulder, considering him for a moment. He’s never called her Master a Beast out loud before he realizes but she doesn’t seem angry. She opens a door to the left and holds it open to him, letting him pass ahead of her. When he does, she sighs.

“He cannot,” she admits, something sounding tight and uncomfortable within her as she speaks. “He hasn’t been able to since...” Her voice trails off into silence and when he looks back at her, halfway through the narrow space she’s led him into, she has her eyes fixed on a point somewhere far away, sadness in every inch of her beautiful face.

“The rose?” Bard tries to fill in but she clenches her jaw and pushes off of the doorframe, passing him to open the next one in front of them.

“We don’t speak of it,” she says and doesn’t hold the door open for him this time.

“I meant no offense,” he assures, hurrying after her to catch up. When she doesn’t reply, he decides pushing the subject further would be a mistake and instead falls silent as well. They walk for just a few more minutes before arriving at two magnificent, tall doors, painted a deep blue-grey and even though the color is fading, big patches gone exposing the wood beneath, they’re beautiful.

“I do not know you, Bard,” she then says and turns to him. “But you seem to have a good heart, a strong will, so I will give you some advice. My Master is not a monster, although he might seem coarse and unrefined to you, that is not who he is deep down. Now, you are not here willingly so I would not expect you to enjoy your stay here but please, do not let his appearance affect the way you judge him. If you give him a chance to show you his true self, maybe you will even come to like it here, to appreciate him.”

“Quite the speech on favor of the Beast who dragged me through his castle and threw me in a prison cell,” Bard answers, meeting her gaze head on, not accusing, just stating a fact. Tauriel sighs once more.

“His name isn’t _Beast_ ,” she says, and reaches for the handle. “So for your own sake, please do not let him hear you say that.”

Before Bard can answer this, she pushes the door open and he steps inside gingerly before realizing he’s already been here before. He’s standing in the banquet sized dining room again, but has entered from the long side of the room, the whole length of the table stretching out to either side of him. The upended chairs have all been cleaned away now, so have the broken dishes. Instead big vases of fresh leaves have been brought in, probably from somewhere in the surrounding forest, and clean plates have been placed in the middle of the table, opposite each other. Bard watches in silence as the Beast stops his pacing on the other side of the table, something he seems to have been doing while waiting for him to show up. He’s wearing a coat this time, made from shimmering silver fabric and the change in him is dramatic. Before he looked like a beast in rags, ready to tear someone’s throat out. Now, however, his eyes reflect the shimmer of the lit candles in the room and the flowing fabric of his clothes make him seem more alive than before, more like a person than the Beast. Their eyes meet for a short moment, before the Beast nods toward the seat on Bard’s side. They both sit down silently, the Beast somewhat uncomfortably, as if sitting on these chairs is something he hasn’t done in quite a while. Bard cannot make himself look away from him, watching his large, clawed hands as he reaches for his napkin, the long ears twitching with every sound Bard accidentally makes when he knocks his empty glass over and clinks his fork into the empty plate. The Beast’s eyes are bright, unlike the bucks Bard has sometimes seen around the borders of the forest, grey like mist and it takes Bard a moment or two to realize they’ve locked eyes again.

“I hope you are hungry,” the Beast says after a moment longer of stale silence. His voice is still rough, sounding almost like he’s been using it far too little over an extended period of time, which if Bard’s been able to understand the situation anywhere near the truth is exactly the case.

“I am,” Bard nods, eying the food already on the table, realizing there are only vegetables. He doesn’t complain, would never complain about food no matter how bad it might be, but he catches the Beast watching him intently and decides to reach for the wine. “Do you mind if I pour?”

“Certainly not,” the Beast replies, inclining his head slightly and Bard happily pours some of the dark red liquid into his chalice, he offers it to the Beast as well, heart skipping a beat every time their eyes meet. It is strange how those eyes can so clearly tell you he is more than just a strange woodland creature, that he is a person still. Bard might not know in what way the Beast got himself into this mess, but he is smart enough to piece together that his host was once someone completely different, maybe not just in mannerisms but in appearance as well.

Bard takes a gulp of wine, eyes closing for a moment as he calms himself. This whole situation is very different from what he was expecting when he first saw this person. In just a few seconds he’d seen his life flash before his eyes, imagined himself rotting in a dungeon with no hope of escaping. Now, dressed in silk fabrics, hair pulled back from his face in the braid Galion had insisted on helping him with, Bard feels more like a guest than a prisoner. He makes a mental note to not forget why he’s here. That if it wasn’t for this Beast, Bard could have been at home with his children by now. A small voice at the back of his head sings a different song, tells a story of Bard the Bowman who died in the woods after falling into the dark waters of the Running River, succumbing to the cold and perishing from lack of heat and shelter. True, the Beast and his temper seemed to have gotten him locked up in a dungeon but had it not been for this castle being inhabited, Bard knows he would have most certainly died within hours in the dark.

“You seem troubled,” the Beast suddenly says, bringing Bard back to the table, grey eyes watching him intently. “Is something amiss?”

“No,” Bard lies quickly, inclining his head in what he hopes comes across as a sign of respect. He would have liked to bring up his children right then, let the Beast know that he is needed at home. He stops himself, however, as pleading might not be the best way to win his case. Instead he takes another mouthful of wine as the Beast lifts one of the silver domes, under which the food is hidden.

“Ah,” the Beast says, seemingly pleased with what he finds under them. “Here we are.”

He plates some vegetables for himself and indicates for Bard to do the same from the dome on his side of the table. Bard does so, wondering quietly to himself if his host prepared this food himself or if he still has loyal servants who are willing to cook for him. He throws another look around the room, dismissing the idea that the Beast has any kind of kitchen staff on hand. After all, the dining hall doesn’t look at all like it belongs to anyone who enjoys grand parties. At least not as of late. The carrots and cabbage, seemingly fried with rosemary sprigs in white wine, are pleasant enough and he enjoys them in silence.

“So tell me,” the Beast then says, Bard looking back at him when he speaks. “I’ve been wondering since I found you in my chambers: who let you out of the cell?” His voice is not accusatory, if anything he seems amused.

“Do you have any guesses?” Bard decides to ask back, wiping his mouth on the soft napkin he’s been provided with. He can see movements at the corner of his eye and understands someone must be waiting to take their plates away now that they’re almost done with the starter. If that was even the starter. He feels eager for more food, almost as if he hasn’t eaten in days.

“I do,” the Beast nods and as he does so, Galion and the old man, Mithrandir, come walking into the hall, quickly placing their plates on a golden wagon and hauling them off. Bard can see the Beast watching them, not quite seeing them but he must have seen the plates moving somehow, seen some shift in the space before him maybe and then looked down to realize the plates were gone. Their eyes meet again and the Beast blinks slowly, his large eyes crowned with impossibly long eyelashes and Bard has to look away from the surreal feel of it all. He has seen eyes like that before, but not in any person who could sit like this and speak to him about servants over a meal. “Galion, would be my guess,” the Beast eventually says after watching Bard for a moment too long when they break eye contact. “If he is still as emotional as he once was.” After this, the Beast returns to his glass of wine as Bard glances at him, realizing the whole mechanism of the Beast drinking from a glass is fascinating to him. His face, although not completely that of a buck, has lips and features not meant for the delicate edges of a chalice, and still they envelop the glass without spilling a drop.

“You really can’t see them?” Bard then asks, tearing his eyes away once again as Galion reappears in the room, carrying trays with more silver domes for their dinner. The servant stops in his tracks as he realizes Bard is talking about him and looks at his Master with big, tired eyes. The Beast seems reluctant to answer at first but then he sighs and inclines his head slightly, the proud antlers on his head moving gracefully through the air.

“They are a shimmer,” he says and gently places his wine glass back on the table. “A distortion in time and space, if you will,” he then clarifies and doesn’t look up at Bard as he scratches his neck with long claws, Bard feeling a shiver run down his spine at the thought of those claws being less friendly than now.

“And you can’t hear them?”

“I can, sometimes,” the Beast admits, but there is something tight in his jaw now, something pulling at his discomfort beneath the surface where Bard can’t quite read him. “But only echoes, whispers in the dark.”

Bard regards him for a moment, thinks this through. Asking too many questions would be rude, which is why he is fighting with nails and teeth against his own thirst for understanding. That rose was clearly enchanted somehow and even though Tauriel had said this is something they do not speak of, the Beast seemed willing enough to unburden his heart. At least that was what he had thought up until a moment earlier when the Beast’s jaw started clenching and his eyes grew cold. A mystery for sure, but maybe not a mystery for Bard himself to solve.

“When you came into the room, before you dragged me off to the cell,” Bard begins, a flash of something resembling guilt flashing across the Beast’s features as he speaks. “Did you hear what they said then?”

“No,” the Beast simply replies as Galion finally starts plating the rest of their food for them. The Beast seems taken aback by the appearance of the food and says nothing more on the subject. Bard is left in silence and quickly meets Galion’s eyes, only to see the man looking even more tired than before.

“But they can write things for you to read, surely?” he then asks, against his better judgement as Galion lifts the lid off his bowl, which is filled with a red soup or stew. The Beast stops moving, eyes fixed on him as he just sits there and breathes for a moment. Galion quickly leaves the room without another look at Bard, which somehow feels unnerving.

“They used to,” the Beast then says and reaches for his spoon, only to drop it in hands that are too big and paw-like to hold a thin metal object like that. “But things change.”

“What has changed?”

Bard doesn’t get an answer, just a look which says more than a thousand words. They don’t speak of this. He shouldn’t have pushed for more answers. He nods, can do that much to let his host know that he has understood where the line is and that it shouldn’t be crossed. He feels a knot of some kind form in his chest, regret most likely, but it surprises him that at no point during this conversation has he felt truly threatened. Not even when given that glare. There’s something about the person sitting opposite him that he recognizes somehow, a gentleness in the grey of his eyes, a softness in the way he speaks, even through the rough edges of his voice.

“I found your bow and arrows,” the Beast finally starts back up again, after Bard has already eaten half his beetroot soup. The Beast hasn’t touched his food yet, it seems. “Do you hunt?”

“Only when I have to,” Bard replies, sensing hostility now. He hasn’t really given any thought to what the Beast might think of him hunting deer in the woods. He tries very hard not to think about the deer heads and antlers in the Master of Esgaroth’s collection, thinks it might show in his eyes if he pictures them.

“Why would you have to?” the question is asked casually but betrays the privilege with which this Beast has lived most of his life. Or at least this is what Bard assumes. The Beast is living with servants in a castle after all, when would he ever have had to worry about what food to put on the table?

“I come from the fishing town downstream,” he explains, feeling those pale eyes on him even as he puts his spoon down. “We survive on the fish the Running River provides, as we have few who farm. But the fish have started draining from the river, the harvest this summer will not be enough to feed everyone and we cannot afford to buy what we need from surrounding villages and kingdoms because we are a poor people. We’re starving.”

“You speak of this village as if they are your family?” The Beast’s voice is level and calm, but curious, even though that same tight sound can still be heard in it. He is guarded, Bard thinks and sighs. No matter what he says, mentioning the fact that he sometimes shoots more than rabbits might turn the food sour in his hosts stomach.

“I care about them, they’re good folk,” Bard replies meeting the Beast’s eyes as he says so. “But I haven’t lived there very long. That doesn’t change the fact that people are starving, in need of more food than the land can provide. Winters are growing colder, summers hotter. If I can hunt to keep my family alive, maybe some other families can benefit from the share of fish and grains we don’t eat.”

Something softens in the Beast then, and the transformation is so quick it takes Bard a moment to catch his breath again. The tightness in his jaw is gone, eyes wide open, compassion or something like it emanating from him as his clawed hand twitches on the table. Bard regards him, actually lets himself look now that the guards are dropped, if only for a moment. Broad shoulders, wide jaw, long ears that look softer than any deer he’s ever touched. It’s interesting to him how he has so quickly accepted that he is here and not at home, which might just be the effect of being taken prisoner and trying to make the best of the situation but at the same time he feels liberated somehow. Everyday, since moving to Esgaroth from Dale, has been the same as the day before. No change, nothing, to the point of being almost strange. Bard has watched the people starve and yet do nothing about it, seen them crumble and complain without sending as much as a scout into the forest to see if something can be done about the fish. He has wondered why that is, why a whole community so close to starvation has done nothing more to survive while their Master has hoarded what little gold the town ever had. The weight of this, of knowing he brought his children with him to that place, to starve when they actually left because he couldn’t stand another moment in Dale after losing his wife, has been crushing him. Here, even though he feels guilty when admitting it to himself, that guilt is gone or at least fading. That crushing weight has lessened and left him able to think of other things. Maybe that too is only a reaction to being imprisoned, maybe he has learned to compartmentalize and focuses on another kind of survival here. Looking into those eyes now that they show more of the person he is than the Beast Bard judged him to be, gives him the same kind of liberated feeling and he lets it flutter for a moment, before he breathes in deeply.

“Your family?” the Beast then asks, intrigued, curious, leaning forward slightly against the table. “Would you tell me of them?”

Bard hesitates at the question and the Beast seems to notice somehow, leans back in his chair again and inclines his head almost as if to say he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Only, Bard does want to. He wants to speak of his children any chance he can, brag about them to the people in town, speak of Sigrid’s amazing skills with the bow, of Bain and his knack for cooking the most delicious things given the right ingredients and how Tilda just wraps her warm arms around him, soothing him when the world comes crashing down on his shoulders. He knows people get annoyed with him but he cannot help it. They’re everything to him. Even if the world was burning all around him he would stay behind and fight for them, if it meant they would get to live another day. Even though the Beast looks intrigued, genuinely, there’s still a worry at the back of his mind that this Master of the forest might use what he is told as a way to hurt Bard in the future. That his children might become pawns somehow. He cannot allow that to happen.

“I have three children,” he says, choosing a middle ground where he doesn’t have to seem like he suspects the Beast of having ulterior motives but instead might just not be the kind of father who brags about his children. “Two girls and a boy.”

“Do you worry about them?” the Beast asks, and the question is said with a sort of understanding that Bard recognizes too well but wouldn’t dare ask about in this moment. “Now that you are away, I mean.”

“I always worry about them,” Bard admits, sighing as he does because apparently he cannot be the kind of person who doesn’t define himself and his life as being a father to those kids. If he wasn’t a father who devoted every waking moment to them and their wellbeing he would not breathe today. “I know they’re strong kids, brilliant, but I worry. Wouldn’t any parent?”

At this, the Beast looks away, going quickly between emotions it seems. Bard is not even sure he has words for all that he witnesses in those eyes. Some emotions he knows: shame, anger, regret, loss. They all flash before his eyes, mirrored in that grey gaze, in an impossibly fast string of unconscious understanding, all of them so clear to him that he feels his heart clench in his chest. The realization hits him before he can process it fully. The Beast has lost someone because of all this. A child. The thought of losing one of his children, no matter in what way, makes his stomach turn and his heart pound too hard in his chest. In a split second he starts reaching out for that clawed hand, trembling on the table before him, but stops himself just as quickly, grabbing his wine glass in an attempt to make that seem like his plan all along. The wine burns his dry throat now, but he swallows it down and looks away as he sees the Beast’s chest heave in what must be the heaviest breath he has drawn in months.

“But they have your wife,” the Beast eventually says, voice hollow. He drinks the last of his wine as Bard watches, his stomach nothing but a black hole when the Beast unmakes him without realizing. “Surely no harm will come to them while you’re here?” the Beast continues but stops when he looks back at Bard, must have seen the look in his eyes. Through his grief, brought back to life in an instant by the idea of his children being all alone, Bard still sees the Beast’s expression. Regret, recognition. “I have upset you,” the Beast says but Bard cannot bring himself to do more than breathe. It has been years now since his wife died and although he cries for her still, he didn’t think he’d have to feel this way again. “I apologize.”

Bard takes a couple more breaths as the Beast gets to his feet, food still untouched on his plate. He doesn’t want to be alone, even feels bad that he’s made the Beast uncomfortable but he can feel tears well up in his eyes already and reaches to wipe them away. The Beast is still looking at him, hesitating, maybe preparing to say something but without finding the words. Then he turns away and starts walking from the table toward the door where Galion is standing.

“I never intended to cause you pain,” Bard hears the Beast say with his back turned to him before he leaves. “When morning comes, leave this castle. I hope you can forgive me.”

Before Bard can reply, the Beast has left.

***

It must be some time in the small hours when Bard gives up and lights the candle by his bedside. He has been trying to sleep for hours and possibly drifted off there for a moment or two but mostly his mind has been reeling. He wants to go home and feels relieved that he will in only a matter of hours but he can’t help feeling like he’s still missing something, like he’s supposed to do something else before he goes but can’t figure out what. He looks up at the canopy above him and sighs before rolling over onto his stomach. He’d cried when he got back to his room the night before, uncontrollably. The way he’d cried while holding the small bundle of soft arms and cooing noises that was Tilda, when she was so small he’d feared she wouldn’t make it through the nights. When the tears had subsided, he’d tried to make sense of the conversation he’d had with the Beast, tried to understand why he had suddenly decided to let him go. Given, the Beast had seemed pleasant enough at dinner, compared to the first impression he had made, but something must have moved him when they spoke and Bard didn’t think it was his crying.

A child.

Bard tries to imagine it. A child in these cold halls, bare feet running down stone steps, a child’s laughter among the stone pillars. He wonders if there’s still a room somewhere, a shrine to a child who’ll never return. The idea turns his blood cold and he sits up, calming his breath to make the image go away. He can imagine this dark, damp castle livable with a child because he knows that even the smallest cottage with walls leaking water and wind threatening to tear it apart can be made livable with small hands in yours, warm laughter filling the rooms.

There is a knock on his door and he starts. If it is as early as he suspects, for someone to knock on his door seems strange. He gets out of bed and quickly pulls his pants on, already wearing the large shirt he woke up in when he first came to the castle. Tauriel is standing there when he opens the door; she has a wrinkle in her forehead but looks just as put together as she did earlier during the day.

“You better come with me,” she says, calm but a note of urgency to her voice.

Bard nods and follows her without hesitation, not even pulling his shoes on as Tauriel is already halfway down the corridor. He quickly pulls his hair back to get it out of his face and ties it up, wondering what could be so important he has to be fetched from his room. The Beast can’t see his staff, maybe that means he can’t receive help from them if he’s hurt? Or something like it? Maybe he’s upset or angry from dinner, maybe he needs to talk? Bard clears his throat slightly, feeling as if this, no matter what it is, must have been caused by him somehow, or at least by the conversation they’d had. A part of him is wondering if the Beast would even want to see him right now, another part of him wriggles with worry and guilt. Not that he’s grown fond of the Beast, but he’s never enjoyed making others feel bad and this time he’d done so without realizing it until it was too late.

“She arrived some thirty minutes ago,” Tauriel suddenly says and Bard stops fretting about the Beast’s emotional state and instead focuses on where they’re heading. He recognizes this part of the castle. They’re approaching the room in which he woke up after collapsing at the castle entrance and he can already hear faint voices up ahead.

“She?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Tauriel nods without explanation. “The others invited her inside but I thought you should know before they make some foolish decision.”

As they round a corner, Mithrandir and Galion come into view and they both stop talking as they see Tauriel and Bard approaching. Mithrandir smiles widely, grey beard jerking happily as he starts speaking even before they come to a halt.

“Oh, good,” he says and reaches for Bard’s shoulder almost familiarly, which makes him almost uncomfortable because he has not even spoken to this man properly before. “You’re here. See, we were thinking...”

“Mostly _you_ were thinking,” Galion interrupts but he also looks intrigued.

“I was thinking,” Mithrandir corrects himself, slightly annoyed but the smile still on his face. “As you must have understood by now we are in quite the predicament here and right now, in this very moment, our prayers are finally being answered.”

“You don’t say,” Bard mumbles and leans to the side to try to catch a glimpse of the person standing by the fire inside the room, but the crack in the door is too narrow to see much of use.

“We haven’t had a girl in the castle before,” Galion explains but it doesn’t make more sense to Bard than Mithrandir’s rambling.

“But now we do,” Mithrandir takes over, en annoyed look thrown at Galion. “And this could mean an end of torment for us, so as her father...”

“Her father?” Bard interrupts and his heart stops. He doesn’t wait to listen to anything else Mithrandir has to say and pays no attention to Tauriel as she hushes her coworkers with explanations of how she hadn’t actually told him yet. Instead he takes three big steps and pushes the heavy door open, eyes falling on a young woman warming herself by the fire. All he can do is stare at her, eyes watering and hands clenching by his sides. Then she turns to him and before he knows how, she’s got her arms around him so hard it takes his breath away.

“Da!” she exclaims and he buries his nose in her soft blonde hair. She smells of home and safety.

“Oh darling,” he says and holds her shoulders tightly and doesn’t let her go even when she tries to pull away.

“Da, why are you in this place?” she eventually mumbles from inside the hug and he reluctantly lets her go, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “When our horse came back without you we were all so worried.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” he sighs and feels stupid for being relieved about the wellbeing of their horse. Sigrid looks at him, looking like a proper adult with her eyebrows all wrinkled and eyes fixed to his. “It’s complicated. I got hurt on my way over and I had to rest up before going home again,” he then explains even though it is a white lie.

“But you seem fine,” she protests, eying him over and even lifts some of the fabric of the large shirt he’s wearing, almost as if checking to see any bandages he might be hiding underneath, or possibly wondering what shirt this is at all, as it is many sizes too big. “I am sure these people have been kind to you but let’s go home.”

“I’m not sure I can...” Bard begins but is interrupted when Mithrandir joins them in the room.

“My dear child,” the old man says and bows low to Sigrid, who looks confused but still grins at this strange greeting. “As I said before we went to fetch your father, we do not usually get visitors here and your father has been very welcome to recuperate with us. The Master of this castle has found his company most intriguing and stimulating.”

“Intriguing and stimulating?” Sigrid almost giggles and looks back at Bard with that look only his children can muster, a mix of disbelief, amusement and annoyance all at once. “My dad is an amazing man but I’m not sure I’d use any of those words to describe him,” she then points out and winks at him.

“Neither would the Master,” Bard mumbles to her, leaning in against her so Mithrandir can’t hear.

“Nevertheless, the Master shares your mindset my dear girl, that perhaps it is time for your father to return to his family after all,” Mithrandir says and seems to be pausing for effect with a short moments pause before he continues. “However, that leaves us at a sort of conundrum, if you will.”

“How so?” Sigrid asks, hand sneaking into Bard’s as she used to do when she was little and afraid of the dark. Bard can see it too, the reason why she’s feeling cold gooseflesh across her skin he imagines. Mithrandir, an otherwise bent over and ancient looking fellow, is now straightening his back, giving off the impression that maybe all this time he’s been strong and stout and you’ve been taking his posture as a weakness that just wasn’t there. His eyes are fierce and his face looks less kind and old, instead stern and bold.

“Your father trespassed, you see, and for that, he has to pay a price.”

The comment is said matter-of-factly, as if it is more of a formality than reality but his daughter is smart and immediately looks up at Bard, trying to discern if this old man is telling the truth. She’s far too bright for her own good, Bard thinks and squeezes her hand back hard. Galion and Tauriel are both in the room now and in the corner of his eye, Bard can see them both reacting to the things Mithrandir is saying. Tauriel has her fists rolled into balls by her sides and Galion is covering his face with the palm of his hand.

“A price, Da?” Sigrid whispers and the fear in her beautiful face makes red hot anger flash before Bard’s eyes.

“Speak plainly, old man,” he says before he can think and wraps his arm around his daughter’s shoulders protectively. “If the Master has decided to release me, surely you require nothing else and I am free to go?”

“You are,” Mithrandir nods but there is a glint of something in his eyes, an amusement that Bard might have found charming if the situation was different but at this moment doesn’t enjoy at all. “But as I told you before we entered into this room, good sir, your daughter might have just answered all our prayers.”

“I want to help you, I do,” Bard says and his eyes fall on Tauriel and Galion as he says so. This old man gives him no warm fuzzy feelings but the other two, even the Beast, have in their own way made him realize he would have helped already, had he only known what to do. “But you’re insinuating that in my place, I would leave my daughter, and I don’t like it.”

“Da,” Sigrid says and he can feel her tearing from his side slightly, straightening her back. “I’ll do it, if it means my father can go back home. What would I be required to do?” She is looking at Mithrandir when she says this and before his eyes she transforms from the small, scared girl into a strong, determined woman. She would sacrifice so much if he asked her, and he knows he could never do that to her.

“Oh, it would be nothing invasive or horrible,” Mithrandir assures and reaches out to take her hand, an offer she refuses, courteously. “But I really couldn’t tell you, you see. What you have to do would have to be done willingly but unawares.”

“That doesn’t make sense...” Sigrid mumbles, just as confused as Bard feels.

“Mithrandir,” Galion says as he steps into the conversation, quite literally as he enters their small circle. “I don’t think you’re seeing this situation clearly. Surely, she could be the one but how old is she? And how do you propose taking her prisoner, holding her father’s freedom hostage for her to stay here, will help us in the long run?”

“An excellent point,” Tauriel concurs drily from where she’s standing by the door.

“Everything can be amended with time,” Mithrandir shrugs but there is doubt in his eyes when he looks at Sigrid again. It infuriates Bard that they’re speaking about his child as if she wasn’t there to hear it all, as if she is a possession that they are decorating rooms with and the big question is what room she fits best in. But Sigrid still stands with her back straight and her face stoic. She has decided to do whatever she can; he loves her for this.

“But he doesn’t have time,” Tauriel sighs and takes a step away from the wall she’s been leaning against. “And neither do we.”

“I understand you need someone to speak to him,” Bard tries, forming the words spontaneously as he goes along, pretending he understands more than he actually does about the situation. “I know you can’t do it yourselves. So let me try? I can stay here until whatever it is that needs doing is fixed, and my daughter can go back home and wait for me there.”

“Da...” Sigrid starts but falls silent as Mithrandir speaks over her.

“As much as we appreciate the sentiment,” he says and pinches the bridge of his long nose in a tired motion. “It cannot be you. You’re not the right fit.”

“How do you know he’s not?”

When Tauriel says this, Bard catches something in Mithrandir’s eyes that is not meant for him. It is a look of surprise so genuine that Bard almost laughs, even in the state of worry and confusion he’s in. Mithrandir turns to look at Tauriel but says nothing, only looks at her, waiting for an elaboration that doesn’t come. The silence presses in on them and Bard tries once again to wrap his head around what’s going on. The rose somewhere above their heads flashes before his eyes. If that is their timer then they truly are running out of time. He grasps Sigrid’s hand again and smiles at her, the most genuine, none worried smile he can muster.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he says and strokes her fingers gently with his thumb. “It won’t be for long, no matter what it is they need me for, and it isn’t a punishment to be here,” he then decides to add and meets Tauriel's eyes as he says so. She nods, grateful. “The Master is a different kind of man than I am used to, but that doesn’t have to be bad. But lass, you need to promise me to go back home and stay there with your siblings. Will you promise that?”

“But Da,” she protests and shakes her head. “I can help you, let me do this!”

“No,” he smiles and kisses her blonde head. “No, I will do this and I will be back before you know it. I’ve been here a little longer than you and the Master already knows me, it’s better this way.”

“Your father will be well looked after,” Galion promises and smiles kindly, his tired eyes softer than usual.

“But...” Mithrandir tries but closes his mouth when Tauriel gives him a good long stare.

“Sweet girl,” she says and takes a few graceful steps until she’s close enough for Sigrid to see her properly. “I understand you want to protect your father, and it is commendable, but you are young and strong. Let him protect you before he turns old and weak.”

Sigrid laughs then, short and sudden and Bard feels his heart clench. His beautiful young woman, so big and still so quick to laughter. How could he ever have been so lucky in his life that he received her as a gift from the gods? He looks at Tauriel, sees genuine fondness in her eyes when she looks at his daughter. He doesn’t know how to thank her for standing with him, doesn’t quite know why she did it either. But he’s glad.

“Da,” Sigrid sighs and leans her face against his chest fondly. “You just want to save everyone, don’t you? This is just like that time when you...” but her voice trails off and her eyes grow big with fear as she looks towards the door. Bard quickly looks up as well and relaxes slightly at the sight of the Beast standing there. It takes him a moment, however, to remember how scared he’d been when he first saw him too. When he looks back down at his daughter he realizes she’s not as good at hiding her fear as he was.

“It’s alright, love,” he hurries and holds her tighter, hoping she’ll hear his steady heartbeat. “That is the Master, please don’t be frightened.”

“That’s _him_?” she whimpers but pulls away from him to look at the Beast still standing motionless by the door. “You said he was different but he’s a monster!” she exclaims, her fright still evident but she’s angry too, betrayed. In her mind, he’s lied to her about the severity of the situation and she will never forgive him. Bard pushes that thought aside and quickly clasps a hand over his daughter's mouth, a desperate attempt to not let the last word escape her but it’s too late. The Beast has already heard her.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” he asks and his voice is coarse, betrays the anger bubbling inside him. Bard feels guilty, knows how this must look but he can also feel Sigrid tremble next to him and he cannot ignore feeling guilty about that either.

“You did,” Bard decides to reply. “But it is not yet morning and my daughter...” he pauses and squeezes her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. “She came looking for me, we were just about to say goodbye. Your advisors, well, some of them, suggested she stay longer but I didn’t feel that was a good idea.”

The Beast looks around the room, in the way he does when he thinks there are people in there that he cannot see. He’s still angry but there’s a look there too that weighs heavy on Bard’s heart. He looks like he’s given up, as if he is carrying all the disappointment and anguish of his people and has finally realized that he can’t do anything to save them. Bard swallows, even though his mouth has become completely dry. He wants to help, feels a deep need to change that expression into something else but has a feeling that whatever he says in this situation runs the risk of making everything worse.

“It is getting bright outside,” the Beast growls between gritted teeth but instead of threateningly walking towards them, he steps aside to let them pass him in the hallway. “You should leave now. Before I change my mind.”

Bard nods quietly and leads Sigrid toward the door, making sure he’s the one walking closest to the Beast so that she doesn’t have to. When they pass him, the Beast looks away from them, jaw still clenched tightly together and an expression Bard can’t read on his face. Bard wants to reach out then, wants to put a soothing hand on the Beast’s shoulder, just to let him know he’s staying behind to help him. He doesn’t. Instead he quickly leads Sigrid down the pathway to the large entrance of the castle, throwing a look back over his shoulder at Tauriel who’s following them at a distance.

“Da,” Sigrid says as he reaches for the door. “Just come with me, you can’t stay here with that monster, I won’t let you.”

“That is not up to you,” Bard sighs and holds the door open for her, refuses to let her hand go however. “I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it. But I need you safe to do this, I need to know that you’re home, fed and warm in your bed.”

“But how can I be safe and warm when I know you’re not?” she says, sounding desperate, eyes continuously darting back towards the room as if she’s expecting an angry Beast to come running after them.

“I’ll be perfectly safe,” Bard smiles and strokes her cheek, so fond the knot in his stomach momentarily melting. “If it wasn’t for these people I would have died out there, I trust them.”

“You trust that monster?” she sounds full of disbelief as she says it and shakes her head. “I know you’re a lot of things, Da, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

“And I didn’t raise you to be judgmental,” Bard retorts, but gently and looks deep into her eyes. “Don’t let his looks fool you, he’s not a monster. He’s just a person.”

“With antlers, fur and claws?”

“Yes,” Bard nods. “But have you ever met a buck that was truly mean and evil? They only react threateningly when they’re hurt or scared.”

“True, but I’ve never met a buck with claws, Da,” she sighs and buries her face in his chest, a hug he cannot resist returning. “Are you sure you can trust someone like him?”

“No,” he admits calmly. “But I still do.”

Bard doesn’t know why. It is quite irrational given the few run-ins with the Beast he’s had so far, but something in those grey eyes tells him he needs to give the Beast a chance to truly earn his trust. He seems almost gentle, at least beneath the surface. As if he has forgotten how to act but is learning, remembering. Bard can’t explain it, not at all, but after lying awake all night he feels like this is the right call. Staying behind is not just a chance to save his daughter but a chance to make a difference for the people here, the Beast included.

“I love you, Da,” she mumbles and he can hear her voice trembling. “I trust _you_.”

“Stay safe, darling,” he whispers and eventually lets her go, pulling her thin coat closer around her to keep her safe from the cold. “Let’s remember to bring warmer clothes next time we walk into this forest, shall we? Even if it’s summer and all.”

She nods and wipes a tear from his cheek.

“Please come home soon,” she says and leans her forehead against his. “Please be safe.”

“I promise.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, just stands there with his forehead against hers. She is his life. He would do anything for her to be safe. Anything. Watching her leave is the hardest thing he’s done in years, but he knows she can take care of herself out there. She’s a better shot than he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back at it again! this chapter is written from the Thranduil's point of view :) 
> 
> Chapter warning: blood and violence

The Beast struggles to breathe through the shame and the anger he feels. He didn’t think Bard admired him, not in the slightest, but for some reason he had expected the respect he feels for the man returned. Hearing his daughter call him a monster, just before watching the two of them leave the castle doesn’t mean Bard doesn’t respect him, of course, but the look of guilt on Bard’s face had certainly betrayed something within him that the Beast had hoped wasn’t there. At dinner, he had felt horrible about bringing Bard’s family up, understanding now how hard it must have been for him to be locked up in this place. His own guilt had been overwhelming and the hope of growing closer to Bard had been crushed into nothing but sharp pieces digging into his core. Bard had been pleasant towards him, not because he was intrigued by the Beast, of course not, but because he had wanted to return home to his children. Of course he had been kind and shown an interest, of course he had courteously answered his questions and eaten his food, dressed in the clothes left out for him instead of demanding his own. The Beast feels foolish for assuming Bard’s actions had been genuine and ashamed for letting his own heart flutter, if only for a moment. The guilt in Bard’s eyes, only moments ago meant he felt bad for lying, felt bad for pretending in order to find a chance to leave. Bard is a good man, the Beast is sure of this. Too good, in fact. Knowing he has caused Bard discomfort for wanting to get back to his children is the harshest blow for the Beast. He knows the horrible, gut wrenching feeling of having to constantly worry about a child. Now he has made someone else feel the same thing. Even though his own hope has gone out, at least he knows now that Bard will be back with all his children soon. At least he could undo that, before it was too late.

His hooves fall hard against the stone floor as he makes his way toward the castle doors, expecting to watch the back of Bard and his daughter as they make their way over the bridge in the faint morning light. He wants to see them leave, expects he deserves to watch his only hope disappear from sight as the castle crumbles around him but instead he sees the door still open and Bard standing there, eyes on the empty bridge.

“Bard?” the Beast says, confused, as he walks slowly closer. Bard jerks as if startled and looks back at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Why are you still here?”

“I decided to stay,” Bard answers, a small smile on his face even though he looks completely crushed.

“But you were supposed to leave,” is all the Beast can say at first, confused. Had he misinterpreted the look on Bard’s face from before? Or had the people in the castle given him council, making Bard feel forced to stay? Then a sudden sound from outside catches his attention, followed by a foul smell he knows all too well. His ears twitch and he catches Bard looking at them but pushes all other thoughts aside, focusing on the sounds.

“Wargs,” he says, hunching his back instinctively, claws reaching for the floor for better footing.

“What?” Bard asks, eyes wide in fear when the Beast throws a glance his way. “You can tell?”

“I can tell,” the Beast mumbles and closes his eyes, picks up their scent from multiple directions, mixed with that of soft linen and rough leather. “They’re tailing her,” he then says and although his heart is beating so fast it might burst, telling him to run the other way, he’s already halfway down the bridge when he realizes Bard is following him. “No!” he roars as he whips around, the look of terror on Bard’s face tearing him apart from the inside out. He clenches his hands into fists, claws digging into the skin so deep he can smell blood in the air. “You stay.”

“I need to help her!” Bard exclaims, even though he’s standing there in nothing but pants and a shirt, no shoes on his feet. “She’s my daughter! I have to!”

“I will help her,” the Beast growls, meaning for it to come out softer but his thoughts are racing and his head pounding. “You stay, Bard! You have to trust me.”

Before he can wait for an answer, he picks Bard up, scoops him up in his arm like a child. He’s trembling, the Beast can feel it, hands digging into his chest but not fighting him. The Beast sets him down inside the door and looks him straight in the eyes, the claws of his right hand resting momentarily against Bard’s heaving chest.

“Stay,” he says, before turning back toward the forest, takes the bridge in two big jumps and soon feels the underbrush against his body. He can hear them, the yapping and the growling, the big paws falling against dried leaves, her panicked breaths as she readies the horse to take off, no doubt realizing she’s in more trouble than she can handle.

When the first strike falls, the Beast isn’t there yet. He hears a whimper as a branch hits soft fur and hard bone beneath. Hears heavy breaths and then an arrow flying through the air, hitting its mark with yet another whimper. He quickens his speed, hands turned to powerful paws against the half frozen ground. He hears her yell, desperately, and growls as he quickens his pace, seeing red as he finally reaches the clearing in which the scent of panicked horse and hungry wargs is so clear to him that he grimaces. One warg, standing atop a cliff is about to strike down at the young woman on the ground; she’s held there by a second warg whose teeth have dug into her coat. No human blood in the air. Luckily for the wargs, or they would have already been dead.

With a roar he pounds into the clearing, claws already deep within the warg above the young woman, before the animal has time to register his presence. He hears her scream but takes no note, burying his teeth in the neck of the foul creature, blood spilling into his mouth nauseatingly as he does so. He doesn’t let go, waits until he can feel a snap and smell the life drain from the warg before he tosses it aside. He’s standing with his back to her, bent forward slightly and claws red with blood in the pale morning light. The wargs, four of them are circling him, only half his size but with four of them he’s out-clawed, outnumbered. He throws a look over his shoulder at the young woman, sees the confusion and fear in her eyes.

“Go!” he growls and doesn’t wait to see her move before he turns his attention back to the wargs. They’ve already taken the opportunity he gave them to mobilize, one coming at him from the front, two form the sides and a fourth, a huge white one, the leader, hanging back. He feels claws and teeth at his shoulder, hears the fabric of his coat rip along with his skin, feels blood pour down his back. His own teeth hit bone, his claws dig into warm flesh and he roars as sharp teeth snap for his neck, threatening to tear him apart. Another warg falls to the ground, neck broken but there are still three of them and the Beast looks around wildly for the leader, only to realize it’s charging at him from the side now, where he’s left wide open from fending off the one trying to bite his neck. He roars again, managing with some of his last strength to push the other two away from him, bracing for impact as the white one opens its monstrous mouth to end him.

The arrow moves past him so close to his face that it splits his cheek, white hot pain coursing through him but only serving to sharpen his senses. It hits its mark, buried deep into the skull of the white warg, making the animal stumble and stop, fall to the ground like nothing but dead meat. The other wargs whimper and run, as quickly as they can, and the Beast turns slowly to look at the young woman behind him. Her back is straight and her face grim, blood gushing sluggishly down her cheek from a wound left there by thick claws. She spits on the ground, coloring the stones red. He lets out a slight chuckle, relieved she’s safe, amused by her stubbornness. No point asking where she got that from. He takes a few steps, feels his leg aching and hears himself groan before he tumbles into the dirt by his feet. He blinks slowly, tries to understand by he feels so drained, can hardly smell his own blood through the overwhelming scent of warg. He can feel her footsteps as she approaches, gingerly, cautiously. She knows how to approach a wounded animal, he thinks to himself and chuckles again.

“You’re hurt,” she states before she kneels by his side, not touching him but looking him over. “You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

“Why not?” he mumbles, tries to support his weight on his arms but thuds back to the ground again when his muscles don’t seem to be able to carry him.

“I can take care of myself,” she says but there is gratitude in her voice.

“You should go,” the Beast points out, overwhelmed by the tiredness he’s feeling but still aware of heavy paws falling against leaves nearby. “Or you might have to take care of yourself after all. I’m not sure what use I’ll be.”

“I can’t just leave you,” she argues and reaches towards him, no hesitation now as she hoists him up from the ground on strong shoulders. “You won’t be able to defend yourself if they return.”

She isn’t wrong. He grunts as she grabs his arm more firmly, stern fingers digging into bruised flesh above his elbow. His vision is blurry and his breath comes in heavy but he still manages to take a few steps, with her as a steady wall to lean against. Soon though, his body gives in and he sinks down to the ground again, tasting his own blood against his tongue now.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she curses, voice worried. “Come on, big guy, get up.”

“I told you to go,” he mumbles, a shiver running through his body as he vaguely realizes just how bad this might be.

“You did,” she nods and tries to pull at his arm again, but without his help she cannot get him off the ground again. “But I don’t take orders from you, so up you go!”

“No, no, this is alright,” he mumbles, tries to look back at her but gives up, half wondering why the sun has decided to set so early. “But they might come back, so go.”

“But...” she tries, interrupts herself.

“Your father would not forgive me if he knew you stayed for my sake,” he manages, claws gripping dirt half heartedly as he tries to lift his weight, fails.

“And he would not forgive _me_ ,” she says, desperate, “if I left you here to die!”

“He’ll forgive you no matter what you do,” the Beast sighs and closes his eyes again, head resting against cold, wet moss. Not such a bad way to go, now that he thinks about it. “That’s what parents are for...”

He can vaguely feel her shaking his shoulder, even thinks she might be pulling at his antlers at some point. A part of him laughs at the image that conjures in his mind, maybe she wanted to mount it as a trophy on her living room wall? But as he hears growls through the trees and tiredness takes him, finally, he also hears her curse and soon, hooves disappearing into the dark. He sighs, breathing still. At least for a little while longer.

***

Soft. That’s the first word that comes into his mind. Soft. The air is soft against his aching skin, the fabric beneath him is soft as well. He lies there, feeling every limb ache, every muscle scream but soon realizes his extremities seem fine. All fingers still move when he makes them, his ankles seem to wiggle against the soft sheets and when he opens his eyes they’re not clouded, but instead he looks up into a dark stone ceiling, lit by a soft, yellow light. He blinks slowly, opens his mouth to taste the air and realizes his mouth has never been this dry in his life. With a grunt he sits up, or tries to anyway but before he can really muster the energy, warm hands rest against his bare chest and he’s completely enveloped in the scent of Bard, who pushes him gently back down into the mattress.

“Easy now,” Bard says, a gentle smile on his lips as the Beast looks at him in confusion. “You’re still supposed to be in bed, doctor’s orders.”

“How..?” he tries to ask but his mouth is so dry no more words come out. Bard seems to understand and reaches for a silver pitcher by the bedside, filling a goblet and getting out of the chair he’d sunk back into after pushing the Beast down.

“Here, hold still,” he says, a strong arm reaching beneath the Beast’s head, helping him sit up only a little bit as his other hand guides the goblet to his mouth. “Small mouthfuls,” he instructs as the Beast starts drinking as if he hasn’t seen water in days. Water spills down his chin, creating rivers down his chest, to the place above his heart where the warm impressions of Bard’s hands are still burning his skin. He sighs and leans back down against the covers, body tired and mind racing. He cannot remember how he got back to the castle, or indeed if Bard’s daughter made it out of the forest alive. He tries to speak again but only hears Bard gently humming to him. It’s a lullaby he doesn’t recognize but it must have worked, as the Beast quickly drifts off into a deep sleep.

***

He has no idea if it’s been hours or days but when he wakes again it is to a sharp, stinging sensation in his arm. He’s startled awake to such a degree that he roars, earning him a chuckle from Bard who’s sitting by his side, re-dressing his wounded arm with his own sleeves pulled up and his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he says and the Beast can’t help grunting in a half laugh.

“You sound like that girl of yours,” the Beast manages, relieved that his voice seems to be working better this time. He’s propped up against the wall, with fluffy pillows behind his back. He looks around the room, only now realizing someone has vandalized his old bed, pulled the mattress down onto the floor and left the bed frame empty.

“That’s a surprise,” Bard says sarcastically but smiles as the Beast looks back to meet his eyes. “You saved her life,” he adds, on a more serious note. “Thank you.”

“I think she might have saved herself, and me, more than I saved her,” the Beast admits but Bard shakes his head.

“I mean it,” he says and places a hand on the Beast’s clawed one without as much as a flinch. “You went after her, you put yourself in between her and those animals when I couldn’t. Had I been in your position, I would have gladly given my life for her but she’s my daughter. You did so, even though she’s not yours. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

“I don’t need you to repay me,” the Beast grunts, heart as warm as the hand Bard is still holding. It feels like sparks of pure energy, rushing up his bloodstream, attacking his aching chest as if he’s being assailed by hundreds of arrows. So this is what it feels like, he registers vaguely, beyond the pain, confusion and struggle to remain focused on the conversation they’re having. This is what it feels like to be touched. 

“See, I kind of knew you would say that,” Bard smiles and releases his hand, reaching for a trough to the side which contains hot water and a previously white cloth; it has now turned brown in patches from dried blood. The loss flooding the Beast as their hands part takes the breath from his lungs.“But I still feel indebted to you. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being indebted, seeing as it means my daughter is alive.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same thing for my son,” the Beast half grunts, half chuckles, when Bard slowly peels the bandaging from his shoulder. He realizes too late what he has actually said, it takes him a while to understand why Bard is looking at him that way. When he meets Bard’s eyes, he sees countless questions there, so many that he wonders if he could ever answer them all. But Bard doesn’t ask them, he only nods slightly and smiles.

“I would have,” he says before he turns back to his task of cleaning the Beast’s wounds. It takes time but Bard is careful and gentle as he helps turn him, cleans, re-dresses and even sows a couple of what sounds like particularly nasty gashes across the Beast’s back. When the Beast winces, even growls at the pain there, Bard slaps him on the arm in soft annoyance. “Be still, otherwise I might hurt you more than I help.”

“If it hadn’t been for your girl running straight into the forest this wouldn’t have happened,” the Beast retorts, which he knows is completely unfair, especially since he’s just admitted how competent she had been out there. Bard only laughs but slaps him again.

“If you hadn’t taken her father captive in the first place, she wouldn’t even have come here.”

The Beast is quiet at that and catches himself sulking about it until Bard is done with the wound on his back and helps turn him back over. In that moment, when Bard has both arms around him, face close to his and his dark hair tickling the Beast’s nuzzle, he yearns for something he knows he cannot have. The hope has fluttered for the last time, this he knows, but these hands against his body feel different from what he remembers, warmer, softer, even more intense than he would have thought. He watches as Bard leans away, follows his movements intently, sees his muscles shift beneath his thin skin, the way he brushes his hair back behind his ear with rough fingers, the way he laboriously straightens his back after he’s done, as if he’s spent countless hours on his feet, too strained to sit comfortably anymore. He’s a beautiful man, the Beast considers as he sinks down further into his pillows again. What can be the harm in looking?

“Consider your debt to me reversed,” the Beast sighs and closes his eyes momentarily, breathing deeply. “I was at fault for taking you captive, for lashing out. I hope you haven’t felt threatened within my halls, but I told you, you are free to leave.”

“And I chose to stay,” Bard replies and the Beast feels warm fingers momentarily touch his paw again, but by the time he opens his eyes, Bard has leaned over to drape the cloth over the bowl. The quick touch must have been by accident. “Not because I feel threatened but because I feel I am needed here, somehow. And that’s final, so don’t tell me to leave again, alright?”

“Alright.” 

“You should rest some more,” Bard then says softly as he stands, taking the trough with him to empty it somewhere.

“Will you come back later?” the Beast asks, not really sure why but he sounds weak then, like his voice isn’t fully holding as he speaks.

“Of course,” Bard promises and this time he sees it, as Bard leans forward slightly to rest his hand against his, only for a short moment before he walks toward the staircase.

“Bard,” he calls out, imagining the muscles moving, stopping, tensing as Bard turns to look back at him. “Thranduil,” he says, unprompted but his name is heavy against his tongue and he closes his eyes again. “That is my name.”

“Thranduil,” Bard repeats and the sound sends shivers down his spine. He’s never heard a voice like Bard’s say his name before. The shiver doesn’t go away, even after Bard’s scent has left the room. He sighs and tries to get comfortable but something is pulling at his consciousness and he cannot stop thoughts from bubbling to the surface. He remembers things he thought he’d forgotten, words flash before his mind that he’d thought were lost. He groans deeply as he sits up, looking down at his body, only to realize that he’s both naked beneath the covers and completely covered in scratches, dried blood in his fur.

He sighs about this too but eventually manages to get himself out of bed, leaning on a chair for support as he stumbles across the room toward the staircase leading up. Snowflakes are falling through the open skylight and he shivers slightly, changing direction to pull his coat on, only to realize it’s been completely ripped apart, left stained by his own blood as well as that of the wargs. He curses and lets the fabric fall to the floor, changes direction again to see if there’s something at all he can wear. He finds a blanket and settles for it, wraps it around his shoulders before he slowly walks up the staircase to the crescent moon shaped plateau.

The wind is strong up here and he shivers more than before but finds it liberating. He stands there for a moment, enjoying the darkness of the night around him. The rose gives off a soft glow which beckons him over, pulls him in. He sighs and makes his way over there, sinking down on his makeshift bed, half expecting to see petals fall but none do. Not that there are many left that can. He looks around at his hooves, his paws, sees burnt and torn paper that make up his bedding, reaches for one. Ever since the curse he has grown less lyrical, more like a Beast than a man in all regards, not just his looks. His son always had a hard time reading and that didn’t make him a beast, of course, but Thranduil had been a poet once, songs flowing from his mind like water down a river. He looks at the paper and traces the half visible words with a sharp claw. All she had taken from him, his son, his people, his chance at finding happiness, his appearance, his composure, his words.

At first he had been able to form them, still able to make sense of the scribbles his servants would leave him, but as the desperation took hold, as his hope diminished, the darkness grew. It could take him hours to read a simple request, days to compose even one verse. With despair he had realized, all too late, that she had been serious in the spell she had laid on him. He would slowly become a Beast, and would stay a Beast forever. 

Thranduil closes his eyes, the paper still in his hand as he rolls his fist into a ball. The words are still there, just as his name and his memories. He can retrieve them, if he tries hard enough. Her punishment had been well deserved, at least when it came to him, but her punishment had been made to be broken. Maybe not by him but she had made sure it _could_ be. That must mean that she’d seen a chance for him, a chance to prove that he wasn’t the man she’d judged him to be. He feels them now, the words, moving sluggishly within him but still moving. He opens his eyes again and looks around, reaches for a book, clawed fingers ripping pages accidentally as he opens it, eyes tracing the strange contours of the text within until he wills the letters to make sense. When they finally do, a wave of relief flows through him, so intense that he doesn’t even notice another petal slowly falling next to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Bard's POV as promised! This one is a little longer again but hopefully I make up for it with some fluff! Hope you like it!

Bard watches patiently as the wounds heal under his guidance, only shakes his head with a grin when the Thranduil complains about the pain or the fact that he’s been stuck in bed for weeks. His wounds heal remarkably fast though, and soon Bard realizes he will not be able to keep him in bed for much longer, no matter how much he insists on more rest. Thranduil seems restless but whenever Bard hears of his foul mood from one of the servants and goes to make sure he’s alright, Thranduil always sits up straighter on his mattress and greets him pleasantly. Knowing Thranduil would not have been in this position if it hadn’t been for him, even though he’s been told many times that what happened truly was not his fault, Bard has taken it upon himself to make sure he wants for nothing while he’s still healing. What happens after that, however, he doesn’t know. 

“Bard,” Thranduil exclaims, almost too excitedly as Bard walks into the room one morning, breakfast on a tray and a book under his arm. He looks better already, pelt smooth and soft, eyes bright and clear. He’s gotten dressed this morning even though he’s sitting in bed as commanded, wearing what looks like a beautifully embroidered robe, glinting with silver thread in the light from the sun shining in from the half moon opening above. 

“Thranduil,” he replies, still enjoying the way this one word seems to lift all of Thranduil’s worries from his broad shoulders, brightens his face and makes him gracefully incline his head in greeting, even though he looks as if he could burst with pride. “Have you slept?”

“Some,” Thranduil replies, averting his gaze in quite an obvious way, lying through his sharp teeth. Bard has thought of those teeth, only in calm moments like these, because he’s quite sure he never saw them before his daughter arrived. Not because they never spoke, but because he believes they might not have been so very sharp before then. As Thranduil gently pats the pillows next to his mattress for Bard to sit down, Bard thinks of the flower upstairs and its falling petals. No matter what the flower means, where it comes from and why it is connected to Thranduil personally, the falling petals is a count down for something. If it continues, Thranduil will change. Become something else, something silent and strong, roaming the forest without so much as a glint of his personhood left in his soul. The thought freezes the blood in his veins, and he hardly knows why. Maybe because these two weeks have started opening his eyes to who Thranduil really is, beneath all that makes him the Beast. Maybe because no one has confirmed this theory to him and he still thinks he might be right. 

“You’re deep in thought today. Is something the matter?” Thranduil suddenly says and reaches out to place a paw on top of Bard’s still hand, his long claws heavy weights against his thin skin. Bard smiles apologetically and shrugs, hopes it comes off as casual. 

“Nothing at all,” he then says and meets Thranduil’s immaculately grey eyes, warmed from the weight against his hand but soon the paw is gone, almost as if Thranduil thought he had overstepped. “I’m just thinking about everything and nothing, I suppose.” 

He reaches for the teapot he’s brought and pours them both some, placing his own cup down on the stone floor and reaching over to hand the other to Thranduil, who continues watching him closely as he does this. Bard finds himself flustered under that gaze these days, looks away and grins to himself more often than not, trying not to be affected by those long lashes and the look of amusement on Thranduil’s face. There’s something about him that Bard just cannot shake, something he didn’t see earlier which now seems to have warped his whole perception of the man beneath the fur and the antlers. He seems almost sweet, considerate in the way he keeps glancing back at him, as if wanting to make sure Bard is comfortable here. 

Bard picks his cup up off the floor and slowly sips his tea as he watches his host do the same, quite delicate in his movements. Since Thranduil has been confined to the bed, they haven’t shared a meal in the dining hall again, but while taking care of him, Bard has realized why Thranduil had seemed so uninterested in his food at the time. He’s helped him eat multiple times, especially in the beginning when Thranduil’s body ached so much he could hardly move. At those times, spoons and forks were his tools but it was like Thranduil had forgotten how to operate them properly, as if these fine cutlery had lost their purpose to him and could only be managed if Bard was the one holding them. This had seemed like a source of great discomfort and shame for Thranduil, but Bard had made sure not to say much about it, instead hid both forks and spoons, pretended eating with your mouth directly from the plate was exactly what he would have done. The look of gratefulness on Thranduil’s face had been all he had needed to understand he was doing the right thing. 

“Lost in a world of thought again?” Thranduil asks and Bard looks up from where his eyes have been resting, somewhere close to Thranduil’s neck or shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he smiles and puts his cup down. 

“Are you worried for your children?” 

The question is asked cautiously and Bard understands why. Thranduil knows that he is staying because he says he wants to, but what caring father would choose a beast over his own family? Bard can almost see the thoughts as they pass by in Thranduil’s eyes; there’s guilt about being the reason for Bard to stay, shame that he has seemed in such need of help that Bard volunteered, maybe even sadness at the thought of separating a father from his children. Bard sighs a little and picks his cup back up. 

“I always worry for my children,” he then says before drinking. “But they’re good kids, they’ll manage. And they’re not alone, they have friends and there are other adults living right next door. What I worry more about, right this second, is you,” he then adds and their eyes meet, long and steady, until Thranduil inclines his head ever so slightly, majestic antlers swaying, drawing Bard’s attention for just a second. “You could have gotten yourself killed out there, for my kid, and you’re still in pain. I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can get.”

“I am,” Thranduil assures and picks up one of the pieces of bread that has been stacked on the plate Bard brought. He seems to only now notice the book Bard has placed next to the tray and he smiles fondly, not in the way a human would smile really, but his whole face relaxes and his eyes glow brighter before he closes them a moment. 

“If I’m going to read to you, you have to promise me to stay in bed another day,” Bard tries, raising an eyebrow at Thranduil when he sees a flicker of disappointment in those big eyes. “I know you heal quickly, but I don’t want to risk it.” 

“Risk what?” 

Bard can’t answer that as their eyes meet again. His words don’t form and his only reply is to silently look back, hoping to convey his feelings in one, long glance. _Risk you_ is what he wants to say. _Risk you getting worse. Risk making a decision that will take the life out of you. _He was never really the one to take charge, always enjoyed when others made the decisions but after his wife’s death he’d been forced to be the one to keep the kids in line, keep them fed and healthy. If he’s going to take care of Thranduil, it has to be done his way. That’s the only way he knows how.__

__“I promise,” Thranduil then says and nods, gaze faltering and Bard takes a deep breath of relief. One more day might be enough, might help him figure out what to do, how to be here when Thranduil isn’t confined to his room. How to be here, with him._ _

__“Good,” he replies and picks the book up, finds the mark and slowly traces the page with his finger until he finds where he left the story last time. “Now, I will hold you to that,” he says as he quickly darts his eyes back up to Thranduil, smiles when he realizes he’s already closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “Alright,” he says as he clears his throat and starts to read. “ _There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after._ ”_ _

____

***

“How is he?” Tauriel asks as Bard joins her in the kitchens for a late supper that evening. He’s already eaten with Thranduil, by his bedside, but he likes spending time with her when she eats and doesn’t mind a glass of wine and some bread to keep her company.

“He’s Thranduil, I suppose,” Bard answers, grinning as he sees the look on her face before she laughs. He hasn’t known Thranduil more than a couple of weeks and really, before then he had been a Beast of interest to him but still a Beast. Even so, he’s learned quite quickly what to expect when they speak, the lack of patience paired with a deep understanding of the world, his piercing eyes that seem to miss so much of what happens around him, the quick glances around the room whenever he senses someone’s presence with them. He doesn’t ask much about what his servants are doing, but sometimes he will smile and ask if Tauriel is the one fluffing the pillow behind his back or if Mithrandir is the person carrying the tray out of the room. 

“He’s up to something,” Tauriel grins and leans back in her chair, a look on her face Bard can’t quite read. “But I’d be spoiling the surprise if I told you what it is.” 

“You know, now it might be even worse,” Bard teases and sees the realization dawn on her face. “Because now I’ll be expecting a surprise, but what if I think it’s something it isn’t and become disappointed with what it actually is?” 

“Then you will act as if you like it,” she says plainly, brushing his taunts aside. “You’re too nice a person to show him you’re disappointed.”

“Or maybe I’m too honest to lie to him,” Bard replies but she seems to not hear him, eyes on the rim of her glass as she absent-mindedly runs a finger along it. He watches her, wonders if she’ll notice. Since he came here, she’s gone from a tired, stern looking woman to a brighter version of that, but still so tired he can see the years of sleep she deserves. She catches him looking and he smiles apologetically for staring at her. “Are you alright?”

“You’ve asked me that too many times to count since you came here,” she huffs but he can see the embarrassment on her face. “I’m the one who should be asking you that, you know. You’re the one who’s left your family to stay with us. I just look like this because usually the people I care about can’t see me worry.” 

“Is that just Thranduil you’re talking about, or..?” he begins but immediately realizes this is something she will not discuss, as she sets her jaw tight and brings the glass back up to her lips. He’s gotten used to it by now, the way the inhabitants of this castle just won’t, or maybe can’t, speak to him about certain things. Maybe they’re too painful to talk about, maybe there’s something physically stopping them when they try. No matter the reason, he has realized it doesn’t help to push it. 

“I’ll be fine, Tauriel,” he adds, instead. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here but you’re all kind to me. He’s kind to me, which is something that’s surprised me, really.” 

“I can understand why the look of him might make others believe he will be nothing close to kind,” Tauriel nods and her jaw goes soft again as she smiles at him slightly. “A long time ago, the look of him would have maybe had the same effect, but mostly because most kings tend to not be so very generous, instead of it being because of antlers and claws.” 

Bard just sits there, staring again, glas halfway to his face. She stops too, fork piercing the carrot she was just about to bring to her mouth. They sit there in silence for a moment as Tauriel seems to ransack herself to see why Bard has suddenly been stunned. He regains his wits quickly enough to speak before she has realized. 

“A king?” he says, eyes darting around the room for any kind of proof that this would be some sort of mountain castle, but they’re sitting in a cluttered kitchen at a wooden table, larger but otherwise no different from his own kitchen at home. “Wait, Thranduil is—was—a king?”

“Oh, ehm,” she says and her eyes go wide, then she looks away almost as if to make sure they’re alone in the room. “I suppose so, yes.”

“But that can’t be,” Bard says as he shakes his head, confusion spilling over as he tries to wrap his head around this new piece of the puzzle that is his host. “I haven’t lived in these parts for very long, but this world is full of kings and kingdoms and from what I’ve gathered, these parts have no king, no kingdom, no people… You cannot possibly suggest that I just hadn’t heard of him?”

“I can, and I will suggest it,” Tauriel replies but her cheeks are flushed and she avoids looking him in the eye. “Maybe people aren’t very proud to have a Beast for a king so they don’t mention him to anyone anymore.” 

“You know perfectly well that’s not the case, Tauriel,” Galion sighs as he enters the room and Tauriel looks both startled and ashamed when she realizes he’s heard them. “Better tell him than make him wonder, I say.” 

“If you leave me in the dark I will find out on my own time and probably be quite disappointed you didn’t tell me,” Bard declares matter-of-factly but is actually anxious to hear the answer to this one. Especially seeing he hasn’t received many answers at all since he got here. 

Tauriel only shakes her head, making her copper hair fall into her lap. Galion gives Bard an apologetic look and sinks down in a chair by the table, brushing some crumbs into a pile on the wooden surface. 

“You know he cannot see us,” he begins and Bard nods affirmatively, trying not to look too eager. “In the beginning he could, well, not quite see us but he could hear us well enough, read messages we left him, that sort of thing. We were encouraged by this, hoped it would help him to still have us around. But when he realized what had happened in the village, that all changed. They hadn’t just become invisible to him, it was as if he had never existed to them. None of us…” his voice falters and he sighs deeply but doesn’t continue. 

“They don’t remember us,” Tauriel takes over, her voice monotonous and not much more than a whisper as she looks down at her hands, her food forgotten on her plate. “No one does. Not our families or lovers, not our children or friends. It is like they’ve been separated from us, removed from our lives and if we try to reach out to them, they do not recognize us. It was an especially hard blow for the Master, obviously. But Mithrandir also took it very hard.”

“And you?” Bard asks, heart pounding hard in his chest as he tries to remember every interaction he’s had with his neighbors, trying to find any kind of indication that this could all be true. Tauriel looks up at him, a tear slowly making its way down her cheek. 

“Me?” she says, a small smile on her face. “I’m still here. I won’t give up like some of the others did. I know he is difficult and I know there’s not much hope for him anymore, but if I gave up, left to go find happiness somewhere else in the world, I would give up on ever seeing the people I love again. And I won’t accept that as punishment. Nothing I have done in my life makes me deserve that.”

Galion smiles slightly and reaches out to take her hand, a gesture she returns as she clasps his. Silence falls over the room and Bard bites his lip in an effort to stop himself from asking the thousand new questions that he’s now dying to ask. He knows they won’t answer most of them, even if they could and it would only bother him to see them struggle with what to say. He takes another sip of his wine, still thinking back on the villagers and then suddenly it hits him, as if someone has struck him across the chest with blunt force. 

Thranduil has lost a son. All this time Bard has though the son dead but what if that’s not the case? Knowing your son is out there but that he has forgotten about you must be even more painful than losing him, Bard is sure. Losing him means you will see him again some day, depending on what you believe happens after death of course. That thought is what has kept Bard from completely succumbing to grief after his wife passed. But to know your child is out there, alone, unable to remember your face even if you stood in front of him. Unable to know if he will remember you even in death, knowing you will have to live your whole life without him, missing everything, all the joy he was supposed to bring to your life, all the comfort and love you were supposed to bring to his. Bard swallows hard and feels his chest ache for Thranduil then, clench and thrash as his heart pounds at his ribs. He wishes for maybe the hundredth time that there was something he could do, besides offering his company, but he knows they will never ask anything else of him.

***

When Bard wakes the next morning, it is because he hears the door creak open. For a moment he forgets himself and keeps his eyes closed, expecting cold feet and hands under his blankets as his kids crawl into bed with him. But no Tilda shows up in the warmth around him and he cracks an eye open, realizing with a sigh of disappointment that he is in fact not at home and his children are too far away to want to crawl into his bed in the morning at the moment. He sits and stretches, believing the sound of the door had been part of his dream until he suddenly, mid stretch, realize there’s a tray standing on the bedside table. He smiles as he reaches to place it on the bed. Breakfast in bed. Had the man who delivered it still been here, he would have commented on not knowing this was such a fancy establishment. He warms his hands on the tea cup for a moment before realizing the tray came with a note. A small piece of paper on which someone has drawn small flowers on one side and scribbled a message on the other. The letters are quite big, looking coarse and unrefined against the delicate paper but even if this almost looks as if a child has written it, it warms Bard’s heart to read it.

_Dear Bard,_  
_Please join me in my quarters after breakfast,  
I have a surprise for you.  
I’ll await you eagerly. - T_

He flips the card over again and traces the delicate flowers with his finger, wonders if Thranduil has drawn them too or if this is the work of someone else. He finds himself hoping Thranduil did, that he’s worked on this note to make it perfect. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head, pushing the thought away. It is quite alarming to have such thoughts, for reasons he can’t quite explain. Thranduil is sweet to him, gentle in the way he speaks and graces against him, as if he’s careful not to scare him. Somehow that gentleness has opened Bard up to fond feelings he wasn’t sure he could feel for someone like Thranduil. Not just because Thranduil looks like a Beast, now that he knows him better he would never hold that against him, but because Thranduil is so different from Bard, comes from such a different background and world, even. To be friends with someone like him, a king, was never something Bard would have expected of his life when he was younger. The friendship forming between them might be surprising, but not unwelcome.

Bard eats quickly and gets out of bed with a piece of bread still in his mouth, eager now to see what this day has in store for him. The floor is cold and he hastily pulls his socks on first, then shirt and pants. He ties the hair away from his face losely and pulls on a coat to keep the cold of the castle at bay. Before he leaves the room he throws a glance toward the misty, water dampened mirror on the wall, feeling silly that he even cares what he looks like and still tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. 

It takes him a couple of minutes to walk to Thranduil’s quarters and on the way he waves to Galion and Mithrandir who, together with a couple of other servants that Bard hasn’t seen much of before, are carrying a large, heavy looking object covered in cloth down the walkway into the large crevice. Intrigued, Bard looks down over the side of the edge, as he’s been told by Tauriel there are both settlements and training grounds somewhere down in the seemingly compact darkness. He sees close to nothing, only an illuminated pathway which the servants are using to traverse the side of the crevice. Shrugging to himself, he decides he can always ask Galion about it later during the day and instead continues toward Thranduil’s chambers. 

When he walks down the steps, Thranduil is already out of bed, standing by the steps leading up to the half moon plateau. He’s dressed in a robe made of fabric that could only be described as the night sky itself. His ears twitch when Bard enters the room and although he’s standing with his back toward the stairs, he inclines his head ever so slightly to the side in greeting, his antlers swaying majestically, almost like a tall crown atop his head. Bard hasn’t really thought of them that way before but knowing Thranduil is more than just some lord puts him in a new light, antlers and all. 

“Bard,” Thranduil says, his voice smooth and calm this morning and Bard catches himself mid smile. He doesn’t know why, but he just can’t stop himself from smiling whenever he’s greeted this way. Knowing he stands before a king makes it even more amusing, because it explains why Thranduil sometimes doesn’t do _casual_ conversations very well. 

“Thranduil,” Bard greets and steps into the room slowly, not wanting to impose if Thranduil was in the middle of something. But soon, Thranduil turns to face him, dark eyes twinkling slightly as he smiles. Like he always smiles when Bard says his name. “Have you been waiting long?” 

“No,” Thranduil assures and Bard throws a quick glance around the room, seeing uneaten breakfast by the bedside and, on the otherwise neatly made bed, a whole pile of robes that have been seemingly torn from the closets in what Bard can only assume was a frantic search for something to wear. He meets Thranduil’s eyes again, sees the eagerness for connection there that Bard somewhat recognizes within himself. He’s made an effort to make Bard feel welcome, especially today, to make him feel as if his presence here is wanted, appreciated. 

“You look good today,” Bard says with a smile, and he means it. Not solely because Thranduil seems to have healed well and is standing up without a pained expression on his face, but also because it is true. He does look good. There might be fur in places Bard has never seen fur on a person before and there might be antlers and hooves and claws but there is something about him, his posture maybe or the fact that the light hits him just right. No matter the reason, he means it as he says it and could swear he sees a flinch in Thranduil’s ear as he says it, a twitch of long lashes and dark nostrils flaring for just a second. Bard’s smile widens and he inclines his head, a show of respect he hopes. The reaction was as close to adorable as he has ever seen Thranduil before. “How are your wounds?” 

“Oh,” Thranduil replies, looking slightly taken aback by the question but quickly gathers himself again as he walks closer. “Fine, thank you. Slightly itchy, but I will survive.” 

“I certainly hope so,” Bard grins but he means this too, more than he can say. “Otherwise I would have ordered you back to bed.” 

“I would have liked to see you try,” Thranduil half chuckles but falls silent quickly, as if realizing he said something he shouldn’t have. “But alas, I have other plans for today,” he then says.

“So I’ve heard,” Bard nods, referring to the letter but Thranduil looks bewildered. 

“Who told you?” he asks, eyes wide and chest heaving in surprise unter the star-strewn robe. 

“I mean what you wrote,” Bard quickly corrects himself and smiles fondly as Thranduil visibly relaxes. “No one has told me anything, I promise.” 

“That’s a relief,” Thranduil sighs but returns Bard’s smile before gesturing with his whole arm and hand back toward the staircase. “This way, then,” he says and as they start walking, Bard feels a warm paw resting against the small of his back. The feel of its weight sends familiar shivers down his spine and he relaxes into it, lets himself be guided through the castle to the sound of hard hooves against stone. 

“Please close your eyes,” Thranduil eventually says after they’ve been walking for a couple of minutes in silence. It hasn’t been an uncomfortable silence, Bard has learned to appreciate the calm moments between them when he can just be, but the sound of Thranduil’s deep voice still makes him jump as it echoes down the hallway they’re passing through. “I’m sorry,” Thranduil immediately says, the hand resting at the small of his back quickly withdrawing in that way he moves as if not to be frightening. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Bard assures and reaches for Thranduil’s arm next to him, fingers gracing against claws and paw before he wraps his hand around a strong upper arm, closing his eyes in a show of complete faith. “You just have to guide me, then,” he says and smiles, unsure if he’s being watched or not. “I’ll just hold onto you, if that’s okay?” 

There’s silence again, expectant silence as Bard waits for the reply but Thranduil doesn’t answer at first. He can feel muscles flexing beneath his hand, feel the tension slowly fade before Thranduil eventually clears his throat and starts walking, a paw soon resting over Bard’s hand to keep it firmly locked there. 

“Of course,” he says and Bard nods, walking down the castle pathways completely in the dark, senses reaching out to touch his surroundings as he tightens his grip around Thranduil’s strong arm. He can feel the ground sloping beneath his feet and the further they walk, the colder it gets until he feels gooseflesh running down his spine and spread over his arms. 

“Are you cold?” Thranduil asks softly as Bard shivers involuntarily. 

“Not really,” Bard shrugs but the chill in the air certainly finds its way through the layers of his clothing quickly. He hears Thranduil chuckle next to him, feels it too through vibrations in his strong body and is surprised when they stop for a moment. 

“You, Bard, are not a very good liar,” Thranduil then says and rustles with something before he comes close, Bard still keeping his eyes closed as he feels warm fabric wrap around his shoulder, along with the soft brush of fur against his neck. Thranduil starts walking again, an arm gently resting around Bard’s back along with what he can only assume is part of the night sky robe. “Is this better?” 

“Yes,” Bard nods, only for a fleeting moment imagining what this must look like, followed by the somewhat embarrassing realization that he has no idea if Thranduil is actually wearing anything beneath the flowing robes he usually dresses in, or if he is naked and if that is the case, is he now half undressed? He quickly pushes these thoughts away, feeling strange that he would even try to picture it in his mind. He wouldn’t try to imagine anyone in town without their clothes on, why do it with Thranduil, who surely isn’t very happy with his current body, at least not from what Bard has gathered so far. It feels invasive to then try to picture him without the robe wrapped around his chest and waist. Curiosity is a strange thing, however. It doesn’t leave you, even when you tell it to. He certainly wouldn’t ask anyone what Thranduil looks like, how his anatomy works or if his entire body has changed in the same way as his face, arms and legs, but of course he wonders. And he hates that he does, warm blood rushing to his cheeks despite the cold air around them. 

“We’re here,” Thranduil says only moments later and Bard nods, already missing the warmth of the robe as it is pulled off his shoulder along with Thranduil’s arm. 

“Can I open my eyes?” 

“No, no. Not yet, wait here,” Thranduil hurries and Bard does as he’s told, eyes still closed even though it feels strange to just stand there, in the dark as he hears hooves walking away from him. He wraps his arms around himself a little, trying to discern some kind of scent in the cold, slightly damp air but the only thing he can recognize is wet stone. A sound in front of him makes him flinch slightly but it is familiar, like fabric being pulled away from furniture and he smiles. 

“Now can I open them?” 

“Alright. Now,” Thranduil allows and Bard opens his eyes, expecting complete darkness as he hasn’t noticed any lights moving past them during the walk, but he’s met by soft candle light from at least a hundred candles all around the space in which they’re standing. Before him lies a narrow passage, rough mountain to each side and firm stone beneath his feet. Above his head, the crevice walls reach high into the air but he can see the walkways stretch across it and follow the path they must have walked down the left side, which is lit by torches. He recognizes the path as at least similar to the one he saw Galion and Mithrandir walk down earlier. Thranduil is standing in front of him, a white cloth hanging from his strong hand, a sheepish sort of expectant expression on his face as he scratches his neck with the other paw. The robe is hanging loosely around his body now, in a way Bard hasn’t seen it hanging before but he decides letting his eyes sink lower than Thranduil’s chest—covered in soft fur—would be very rude considering the circumstances and instead he forces his eyes away to look at the surprise he’s been presented with. The candles are illuminating a long stretch of stone-paved floor, leading to a table with food and drink in one end and a shooting target in the other. Judging from the close proximity of the target, that is what Thranduil just uncovered. Bard smiles and looks back toward the table, where he can see his own quiver and bow propped up against one of the chairs. 

“Do you like it?” Thranduil asks after watching Bard in silence for a couple of minutes. 

“It’s wonderful,” Bard says and reaches for Thranduil’s hand for just a moment, squeezing his warm fingers in a sign of gratitude. Archery is one of the few things he’s always found time to practice, both as a child and after his own children were born. It was one of the few things he was able to still do after his wife passed, one of the few things he still finds joy in as he does it. He wants to convey this to Thranduil somehow, let him know just how much this helps him, how calm he feels whenever he lets an arrow fly, how much more at home he feels just knowing this is something he can do here too. The words are hard to form, however, and the slight squeeze of his fingers will have to do for now. 

“There are no animals here for you to shoot,” Thranduil explains, his back straightening now as if he’s been emboldened by Bard’s reaction. For a short moment after their hands part, Bard catches those long fingers flexing almost as if waking them from that prickling feeling you get when leaning on your hand for too long. “Except me,” Thranduil then adds and Bard is so surprised by this comment he cannot help but laugh, which seems to have been the reaction Thranduil had been looking for. “Please don’t shoot me. That’s what the target is for.” 

“I can’t make any promises,” Bard grins back, eyes locking with Thranduil’s pale ones for just a moment longer than usual before he turns and starts walking toward the table and his bow, eager to hold it in his hand again; it being about the only thing, apart from his children’s hands, that fit there perfectly. “Will you stay with me, even so?” 

“Of course,” Thranduil nods and follows him, pulling his robe closed around him again as they reach the table. He pours them both some tea while Bard watches, smiling as he hands him a tall glass, steam rising from the top of it. “I trust you,” he then says, suddenly serious and Bard swallows around the rim of the glass. How can three words be both liberating and weigh so heavily on your shoulders at the same time?

“I’ll probably make a fool of myself now,” Bard admits as he picks the bow up, feeling his shoulders relax as he grips it tightly, feeling the wood resting comfortably against the calluses in his palm. “Just because you’re here, watching.” 

“You probably will,” Thranduil teases, leaning back against the edge of the table behind him, watching him. “And I will tease you for it.” 

“How very kind of you.” 

Bard looks back at Thranduil for a moment, both of them just smiling. There’s something there, again, that wasn’t there before. A feeling between them of mutual respect but also something else, something warm, something comforting. Bard breaks eye contact first and turns toward the target, reaching for an arrow with his free hand and gently puts it to the bow, breathing in the familiar scent of hemp and wood before letting the arrow fly. 

“Good shot,” Thranduil says behind him but Bard shakes his head slightly, knowing he was off but not really caring. The sensation of having the bow back in his hand is too familiar, too good for him to care whether or not he hits the target dead center. 

“I could do better,” he only says as he throws a grin back at Thranduil over his shoulder. 

“I’ll wait with bated breath,” Thranduil smiles and raises his warm glass, keeps watching as Bard lets the arrows fly toward the target. Silence falls between them, only broken by the whoosh of arrows and twang of bow string, maybe even an occasional clang from above when a servant drops something somewhere far away. 

“My son,” Thranduil says after a while, Bard stopping mid draw but soon fires the arrow anyway, in an attempt to make it easier for his friend to breach the subject without seeming too eager to hear every word. “My son, he--” Thranduil tries once more, his voice faltering again but he fights it. “He used to come here, all hours of the day if he could. He used to stand where you’re standing, a smile on his face whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. It always made me proud, seeing him do what he loved.”

Bard hesitates to answer, doesn’t want to interrupt in case it means making it harder for Thranduil to speak. His chest is a knot of feelings he assumes are more than twice as painful to experience first hand and he waits, but Thranduil falls silent behind his back. After another moment in silence, he gently leans his bow against the table and turns to face his friend, his heart aching in his chest as he sees the loss in those pale eyes as they meet his own. 

“My daughter, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Bard then smiles and breathes in deeply as he sees Thranduil almost forcefully pull himself back to the present, returning from the darkness with a small smile on his face. “Sigrid. She could have hit that mark with her eyes covered when she was only six years old,” 

“I believe you,” Thranduil replies, voice quite weak but he’s straightening up slightly, handing Bard a damp cloth to wipe his hands on. “I’ve seen her in action, so to speak.”

“I used to take her out to practice whenever she grew tired of her siblings,” Bard continues and leans against the table next to Thranduil, wiping his hands absentmindedly as he watches the lights in the candles all around them flicker. “She used to beg for me to take her with me, would never complain no matter how many gnats got to her skin, no matter how the shoes tore her little feet up from the bad fit.” He chuckles and puts the cloth down on the table. “She’s always been a natural.”

“Sounds like our children would have gotten along splendidly,” Thranduil smiles and Bard nods in agreement. A part of him, a silent part that still knows very little of this strange world he has stumbled into, wonders if maybe, by some strange coincidence or trick of fate, maybe they have already had a chance to.

***

Curiosity is a strange thing. It sinks into your subconscious, almost unnoticed and it dwells there until you let your mind wander, until you’re unguarded and alone. It makes you wonder, makes you shiver and writhe as you lie in bed and watch the hours tick by from the moonlight filtering in through invisible cracks in the ceiling. It makes your heart beat painfully hard in your chest as you grind your face into the pillow, whispering curses into the dark.

When Bard wakes he’s cold with sweat and trembling all over, hands weak as he pushes his hair out of his face. Next to his bed lies the letter, the neatly drawn flowers still crisp on the paper, words of kindness scribbled inside. He sits and pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and buries his face in the dark. The dream he had was bright and warm, still he’s shivering as if from a nightmare. Grey eyes, brighter than moonlight is all he sees before him but although he knows the eyes, he cannot possibly recall the face now, the dream swiftly fading with the light of dawn. All he remembers is he knows those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news! 
> 
> My partner in crime, tunnelspt2, editor of this fic, is working on some smut atm, involving our favorite beauty Bard and his beast! It's not done yet but when it is, I'll let you know and it will be posted as a part of the same series as this! So if you're into some more R-rated stuff, you have something to look forward to in that department! /Alex


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with a chapter from Thranduil's perspective (sorry for the wait)! Warning for a very gay elkman!

“When was the last time you spoke to another person?” Bard asks and Thranduil looks up from the path, where his eyes have lingered the last few minutes in silence. “Had a conversation, I mean,” Bard adds and smiles gently as Thranduil meets his eyes. “Where you could hear the other person?” 

“It’s been years,” Thranduil sighs but returns the smile. “Too many to count. I’m sorry if it’s obvious.” 

“It is,” Bard teases and he bumps his shoulder into Thranduil’s side, playfully. He does that these days. Such a quick change in his behaviour. It is like Bard isn’t the slightest bit nervous around him anymore. Bumping into him as if they’ve known each other for decades, leaning up against him with that grin on his face as if they have teased and laughed together since childhood. It’s familiar, but a feeling Thranduil hasn’t felt in years. He’s not used to it, it makes him shiver, makes him nervous he will do something, mess it up. “But I really don’t mind.”

“Glad to hear that,” Thranduil nods and reluctantly decides to look away from Bard, continuing their stroll down the halls of his castle. “I would hate to make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’ve said,” Bard chuckles and holds a creaking door open for them both. When Thranduil passes him, he can tell his eyes are being searched for, but only bows his head slightly as to not get stuck in anything as he passes through, which happens on occasion and it would be terribly embarrassing if it happened in front of Bard. “So how much farther?” Bard then says as they pass through yet another forgotten servants room and Thranduil can’t help but smile at his friend’s impatience. 

“Nearly there,” he replies and turns for a moment, falling for the bait as he looks Bard in the eyes and gets stuck there, like the moth drawn to a flame. It only lasts for a moment, the feeling of complete lack of control, until he wills himself to keep walking, eyes burning and clawed hands flexing by his sides. “It’s just up this pathway.” 

The small door at the end of the last corridor seems almost too small to fit a grown person, let alone a beast of his size, but Thranduil opens it and crouches, hearing Bard says something about being careful before he decides he must fit, and pushes through it, stone dust landing on his shoulder from where his horns grazed the door frame. 

“You alright?” Bard asks, a hand reaching up to brush the dust off, standing on his toes to reach further, eyes focused as he plucks something from Thranduil’s hair, or possibly one of his horns. Thranduil only stands there, lets it happen, eyes half closed and claws digging into his palms. He should be embarrassed but he’s only warm. “There,” Bard finally says and before Thranduil can react, a rough hand cups his chin gently and tilts his head up slightly, from the bowed down position he’d taken to allow Bard to reach better. He’s caught again. “As good as new.” 

“Thank you,” Thranduil replies, almost breathless and is both disappointed and relieved when Bard breaks the contact, looking around the room instead of ensnaring him. How did he let this happen, Thranduil wonders as he watches Bard walk around the massive space, watches him smile at the arched ceiling and close his eyes in the sunlight filtering in, beams of it illuminating his handsome face. He’s been naive, allowing himself to dream, to hope. Even knowing this, Thranduil can’t help but smile. “So what do you think? Will it do?” 

“It’s perfect!” Bard laughs, as if the questions are a joke. Thranduil can see why, as the hall is more than enough for a celebration, especially when his staff has diminished significantly since last time he held a ball here. 

“You think the others will like it?” Thranduil asks, more to assure himself that his gift will be good enough to make up for at least some of the hardships they’ve all been through, for his sake. He catches Bard looking his way, studying his expression as if trying to read his mind. Bard has those kinds of eyes, reading him like a book if he feels like it. 

“You don’t have to worry,” Bard assures him, walking back to his side, a hand outstretched to grasp Thranduil’s, as if this was something they did often. “Everything will be wonderful,” he then continues and leads Thranduil toward the staircase, which takes them to the second floor balustrade and the private rooms inside. Bard’s fingers are dry and warm against the palm of his paw. For a moment, Thranduil forgets to listen to the words Bard speaks. “...and I think this room would be nice for some food, too. A place to rest after dancing, right?” 

“Of course,” Thranduil nods and tries to piece together what he’s missed, his hand heavy by his side again. “That’s what the sofas are for, after all.” 

“You haven’t had a party here in a while, have you?” Bard sighs and wipes a finger over the dusty, forgotten mantlepiece of the fireplace. Thranduil doesn’t answer but suspects it must have been a rhetorical question, as the answer is quite apparent. Among the cobwebs and dust some old glasses and plates even rest, forgotten until now. Thranduil finds that seeing them makes him uncomfortable, stirs up memories he’d rather forget. “I think this is a good thing, Thranduil,” Bard says, his voice casual but his eyes kind when he looks his way. “For them too.” 

“I have you to thank for it,” Thranduil smiles as he inclines his head, pushing wild memories out of his thoughts. “Without you, it would have been hard to do any of this. It’s had to coordinate a party when you’re the host but can’t see neither guests nor workers.” 

“I promise I’ll make myself useful,” Bard grins, picking up a chair that has been resting on its back for years. Thranduil wants to say he’s already valued, wants to joke and say maybe he should get to it or perhaps smile and ask what he would do without Bard. Instead he nods and clears his throat, pretends to be very interested in an old book when Bard looks his way. Sometimes the words fail him, both on paper and in his throat, his mind. Sometimes they’re harder to say than he ever thought possible. Sometimes it hurts, not being able to say them.

***

“After all these years, I do not presume to know what you think of me but at this moment, knowing you’re all standing before me, makes me think maybe you find me foolish,” Thranduil says, sounding as casual as he can, even though the seemingly empty space is brimming with anticipation so strong he can almost touch it. “I know you have all sacrificed a lot, for me, for what I’ve done and I know there is very little I can do to make amends for what has happened to you,” he continues and then pauses as he throws a glance at Bard, who’s standing to the side, by one of the strong pillars holding the platform aloft. Bard, at first, does not look back at him. He’s looking at someone else, someone Thranduil can’t see, a golden shimmer somewhere in front of him. When Bard finally meets Thranduil’s eyes, he smiles and nods encouragingly. “But as you all know by now, we’ve had a special guest amongst us for a while now, and he has filled a void not only for me, but for you as well, by being here. I can never repay him for that.”

“There’s no need,” Bard grins from the invisible crowd and Thranduil can hear the faint echo of laughter through the space. He smiles and inclines his head, a hand gripping the side of his throne, which sits behind him, a supporting presence in case he is to fall or slump down, unable to stand anymore. Weakness like that has come over him of late; he’s not fond of it. 

“Nevertheless,” Thranduil continues, attempting graceful gestures with his hand as he speaks but they seem sloppy and stiff, not practiced for years. “Now that he is here, I am finally able to hear you, through him. I know he has been a friend to you—some more than others—but no matter if you've spoken to him or not, I know now that I have a chance to do at least something for you, before I am unable…” 

His voice trails off, in a way that might not be noticable he thinks and clears his throat to make it seem as if he might need something to drink. He can see the wrinkles form in Bard’s face, his brows knitting and his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Maybe losing his voice hadn’t been such a subtle thing after all. Thranduil quickly smiles, as best as he can, and releases the side of his throne, eyes sweeping over the presumed crowd and feels his heavy heart lighten ever so slightly, imagining anticipating faces looking up at him. 

“What I mean is, if there is anything you want me to know, speaking to Bard will get it done. As to me making things up to you, I thought perhaps we could start with a celebration, for you?” He cannot hear the response, not really, but there are sudden goosebumps spreading across his arms and the grin on Bard’s face is telling. “Now I know,” Thranduil smiles and holds a hand up, as if stopping the silence from being too loud. “A celebration means you all have a lot of work to do ahead of you, and it is hard for me to help but I will do what I can in order to ease the workload. I trust you all in this, you can make whatever you want, drink whatever you want, as long as you promise me to enjoy every moment of it.”

Bard meets his eyes, smiles, nods. There’s a warmth in the room that makes the stone around him sing, a heat that might have been there all along only he couldn’t hear it. Thranduil nods too, smiles but doesn’t know where to look, other than Bard. There’s no one else. Just Bard. He sinks slowly onto his throne, closing his eyes for a moment as he hears Bard walking up the steps toward him, bracing himself for being in his immediate vicinity again. It takes more than he thought it would, these days, to be close to him. 

“They’re happy,” Bard says, before he’s close enough to touch, but not far away enough for his scent to be anything but overwhelming. “In disbelief, but happy,” Bard then adds and Thranduil opens his eyes again, finding laugh lines and heavy brows and everything that makes Bard human so intensely magnified in the light filtering in through the strategic openings in the ceiling above that he cannot utter one single word in reply. Bard stands there for a moment, watching the crowd before he looks back at Thranduil, now noticing the look on his face, no doubt. Thranduil quickly smiles and inclines his head again, antlers swaying slightly and just as he’s about to say something, what he isn’t sure, Bard’s hand reaches out and a finger lands on dry, exposed bone and Thranduil just sits there. Silent. 

“I’m sorry,” Bard quickly says and the hand is gone as quickly as it landed there. There’s regret in his voice but Thranduil cannot bring himself to look back up at him, his neck frozen in the inclined position it had been in, his whole being vibrating with heat, only, he can’t breathe. “I didn’t mean to cross a line, truly, I don’t know what…”

They’re silent. It feels like hours but it’s nothing but seconds. Thranduil can hardly hear what Bard is saying because his heart is in his throat and its deafening. He doesn’t have much sensation in his antlers, but he felt it. Felt it so clearly he must have imagined it. He wants to get up, wants to run. Where to he isn’t sure. Anywhere. Away from here, away from this man who seems to calm around him, so at ease. It’s too much. All of it. At the same time he wishes—wishes so strongly he could scream—that Bard’s hand had lingered longer, had dared to linger long enough for Thranduil to savour it. To remember it. 

“Don’t fret,” he eventually says as he realizes Bard is still waiting for an answer to his apology. He looks up to meet his eyes, for the shortest of moments and steels himself against the threat of sinking deep into them, of falling without a chance to save himself. “I took no offense,” he says as he peels his eyes away, rips them from the comfort of Bard’s worried brows and his slightly parted lips. “Will you join me in the ballroom after dinner? Help me prepare?” 

“Of course,” Bard replies, a little too quickly, a little too relieved. “Do you want some company before then?” The question is casual enough but still buries itself deep into Thranduil’s chest, nestles there like a rose thorn, deadly and poisonous. 

“No,” he replies simply and steps as gracefully as he can, past Bard, toward the staircase. “No, I have some things to prepare until then.” 

He feels it, for a fleeting moment as he steps in and out of Bard’s personal space; his scent, his heat, his kindness, his longing for something Thranduil cannot understand, not fully. A finger, just one, reaching out or possibly just flexing but nevertheless brushing against Thranduil’s hand in the space between them, leaving gashes of need across his palm, his skin prickling with it as he rushes through the hallways, tightly clutching his fingers over his chest. He aches.

***

The rose is still there, slowly withering as he steps onto the plateau into the crisp outdoor air. He knows someone has followed him, has been living like this long enough to recognize the feeling. He says nothing about it for a while, just stands there watching his life slip away slowly with the draining of the flower before him. For the longest time he believed he deserved this, even now this is what he believes. He has been convinced what he was like, what he did, warrants this curse but that it is unfair that his people are also made to suffer for his selfishness and stupidity. It isn’t until this day that he suddenly applies the same term to himself. It is unfair. It is.

“I only wanted to do something for him. For all of you,” he says out loud to the presence behind him and as always gets no reply. “Mithrandir, what would you have done if you were in my shoes? Would you have been strong enough to fight this?” The silence is deafening but he can feel a slight warmth in the vicinity of his shoulder and he smiles at the thought of the old man putting his hand there, possibly. “Of course you would have been strong enough, old friend,” he then says and puts his own palm over his own shoulder, hoping to convey gratitude. “Lend me some of that strength, please. I fear I might drown in it all…”

***

“You should see them all, fussing about in the kitchen as if it was everyone’s birthday at once,” Bard chuckles and dusts some cobwebs off his tunic before bending over to pick up some old, forgotten books from the floor. How they made it out into the ballroom, Thranduil doesn’t remember but he assumes he himself must have thrown them out here in a fit of rage at some point. He used to have those a lot, not too long ago.

“Is that so?” he replies, wanting Bard to go on even though he doesn’t quite know how to respond. He likes hearing him speaking, breaking the years of silence still suffocating him in these halls. Whenever Bard is not around, he sometimes seems to forget again, what it is like to not be alone. 

“In a way I think they might enjoy the preparations even more than they will the party,” Bard nods and Thranduil looks back at him, his strong shoulders as he carries furniture around, the way his hair falls around his dark brows when he leans over to pick something off of the ground. 

“You’ve never been to one of my parties,” he replies, earning a grin from Bard which sends his stomach turning, head spinning. He turns away before more damage can be done. This is ridiculous. He watches his own reflection in one of the mirrors, recently placed around the room to reflect the light but now catching a monster. He takes a startled breath, looks away quickly. Mirrors had not been allowed before Bard but after his arrival, it is like Thranduil has suddenly forgotten, suddenly seen himself as the man he used to be, at least when he thinks about the two of them spending time together. An urge to destroy the mirror comes over him, so strong it feels like a natural instinct, but he stops himself and stares into the wall instead. This is who he is now. Antlers, hooves, fur and claws. That’s who Bard sees him as. Nothing more. 

“That’s true,” Bard says from far away, his voice muffled as if he’s speaking from another room. “I suppose we’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?”

Thranduil tries to breathe deeply, eyes watering from being unable to blink. His heart hammers painfully hard in his chest, claws digging into his palms as he tries to steady himself. Then his whole body jerks in sudden fright, the thought of voices growing faint and faces disappearing entering into his mind. What if Bard goes away too? What if him being here means the curse is slowly rubbing off on him as well? Thranduil quickly turns around, needing to see him, to make sure he’s still standing right there picking cobwebs off the wall. But he isn’t. He isn’t there. 

“Bard?” he says, the panic clear as day in his voice but he doesn’t care. How could he have been so foolish, to think Bard was safe from the curse resting on this place? How could he have been so naive he thought a person he cared about could simply walk into these halls and stay unaffected? His ears are ringing and his heart has left his chest, pounds so hard in his throat that it threatens to break free from him. How could he do this to an innocent person? Why didn’t he just send him away when he had the chance. He wants to scream, rip the world apart with teeth and claws but then a heavy, warm weight falls on his shoulder and Thranduil blinks, as he turns to the side and looks into Bard’s beautiful eyes. Drowning. Not fighting it this time. 

“Thranduil?” Bard says, a worry wrinkle on his forehead and Thranduil breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t care if the following gulp of air is the last breath he ever draws. “Hey, where did you go? Are you alright?” Bard’s voice is calm, concerned, the most wonderful sound Thranduil has ever heard in his life, or at least that’s what he feels in this very moment. He wasn’t gone, had just moved, as people are known to do when they clean. Thranduil feels stupid but he’s too relieved to care. Bard’s hand on his shoulder is a soothing warmth piercing his heart and all he can do is smile. 

“I’ll be fine,” he replies after a moment of silence between them. His heart is still hammering but he ignores it, his ears are still ringing but Bard’s voice is clear. 

“What happened?” Bard asks, the hand still firm on his shoulder but the other raising in the space between them. Thranduil watching how Bard’s fingers flex, how he stops himself mid-movement, his hand halfway between them as if he was reaching for Thranduil’s face but thought better of it. 

“I imagined the worst,” Thranduil admits. He has admitted to a lot since Bard came here. Another curse, no doubt. 

“The worst?” Bard echoes, his eyes looking deep into Thranduil’s and they burn him, melt him, leave him breathless. 

“You,” Thranduil sighs, breath stolen and heart weak. “Gone,” he then adds, realizing even through the haze that only saying _you_ might have sounded strange. Bard smiles then, looks almost sad.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he says, the motionless hand between them moving again, reaching up to be placed around Thranduil’s neck and the sensation of being touched there sends Thranduil into a tremor, knees weak and eyes closed. He lets himself be guided gently, Bard’s fingers warm and strong against his throat until their foreheads rest together, both Bard’s hands now resting against the base of his skull, heat digging its way into every part of Thranduil’s mind. “I’m staying right here.” 

“Thank you,” Thranduil sighs, eyes still closed, feeling the faint tickling sensation of Bard’s breath against his cheek, so close all he would need to do to break the barrier between them is to lean in just a little further. He wants to. More than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life. He feels Bard’s fingers rubbing circles across his neck, gooseflesh trickling down his body like a waterfall. He needs to. He needs him. His own arms hang limp down his sides, hands twitching with the thought of burying them in Bard’s soft hair, the feeling of pushing through thick locks, nestling them in there, Bard’s warm scalp beneath his claws, is overwhelming. 

He wants to. But he doesn’t. This has to be enough, he tells himself, breathing in the scent of Bard one last time before straightening up, eyes averted and fingers flexing with regret. This has to be enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! thanks for being patient with me as i finished my thesis :) hopefully this early candlenights gift will keep you warm and snug during the holidays, no matter if you celebrate christmas or not!
> 
> i'm already working on the next chapter and i'll hopefully post it sometime soon! /Alexander

To say that Bard is confused is an understatement. He even laughs at himself as he’s pacing his bedroom late that night. His hands still feel warm from where they’d been buried in Thranduil’s soft pelt, his chest aches from worry and something else which is so hard to put words to that he’s left breathless. Thranduil is a good man, he’s sure of that now, in a way he could never have imagined before. Hearing him speak to his people, seeing the tears in his servants eyes, grasping the fact that Thranduil has not been able to speak to any of them directly in years… Bard cannot imagine what that would be like, how quickly that would change a man, crush him under the weight of his solitude, make him into but a shadow of what he used to be. Even so, Thranduil had been glowing in front of them, strong and gentle and they had listened, rejoiced with him. 

A good man. 

And Bard stops there, mid step, hands grasping around his own body in an attempt to hold himself, shelter himself from the inevitable. He knows what this feeling is, has felt it before but under less complicated circumstances. He takes a shaking breath, chest feeling tight and constricting and in an attempt to draw more air into his lungs he almost tears his shirt in half, hands trembling as he pulls it over his head. 

They had been so close, so close Bard had felt his knees grow weak, his breath quicken. Thranduil had done nothing, only stood there as if he had no recollection of what to do when embraced by someone else, as if Bard’s hands on the back of his neck had been a shock to him. Bard realizes there, on his bedroom floor as he slumps against the side of his bed, that Thranduil has probably not felt the touch of another human for years. Of course he wouldn’t know what to do. The memory of Thranduil slowly breaking away from him, however, eyes averted and steps quick as he left the ballroom, is etched into his mind like a splinter and Bard sighs deeply, burying his face in the palms of his hands. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles to himself, wishing, not for the first time that day, that his children were close enough to embrace him. He thinks of Tilda’s soft face as she would lean against him back home, wrap her small arms around him and tell him to breathe and smile. He thinks of Bane and feels a lump grow in his gut as he imagines his gentle boy holding his hand, saying he trusts him to make the right choice. What right choice is there in a situation like this? Bard pulls himself up from the floor and sinks to the bed instead, palms resting in his lap, still burning, eyes closed. Sigrid would have scolded him for this, he’s sure. Told him he should get over himself. No matter what he chose to do, he should just make his mind up about it, before his actions were decided for him by someone else. 

Bard smiles faintly and leans back against the covers. Thranduil’s pale grey eyes are etched into his retina and he sighs again as he wonders, if only for the shortest of moments, what it would have been like if Thranduil hadn’t pulled away, what would have happened if instead of moving backwards, he had leaned in.

What would it have been like, Bard wonders, to kiss a beast.

***

“You look beautiful,” Bard says and smiles at Tauriel when she gives him a spin, wearing a green dress and sugar flowers in her hair. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she teases before walking up to him with a smile, a white flower in her hand which she pins in his hair as best she can. “There,” she nods and brushes some invisible dust off the dark blue of his tunic. “Much better.”

”Do you mean a flower can make such a difference?” Bard grins and watches his own reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. At least he’s clean, he thinks to himself, hoping his own apprehensiveness isn’t showing on his face. She says something about blue being his color and he nods in gratitude but feels his chest clench painfully beneath the beautifully embroidered tunic and the crisp white shirt. He hasn’t dressed up for years, hardly remembers the last time he looked this clean. All it reminds him of is his wedding but that was too long ago, with too many painful memories in between. His hair has grown more grey since then, his face wrinkled and worn. He remembers her, his wife, her laughter when she told him wrinkles only happen where a smile has been. At the time, he could have bet his life on the fact but as he looks himself over, her face so faded in his memory he can hardly recall it anymore, it isn’t happiness that’s left marks in his skin, but worry. 

“Care to tell me what’s on your mind?” Tauriel asks from behind him as she pulls her fingers through his hair to put it up more tightly in the back. 

“Not really,” he admits but smiles at her through the glass. 

“You look worried,” she says, a warm hand resting for a moment on his shoulder. 

He ponders that hand, watches her strong, long fingers grip the fabric before she lets him go. How interesting, he thinks, that the touch of someone so beautiful as her stirs no emotions in him other than friendly fondness, but that the mere thought of claws against his skin sends his mind reeling, as it has all night. He supposed it isn’t the claws themselves but the man they belong to. No matter the cause for his racing heart, he still finds it alarming. 

“Are you worried about him?” 

He is brought back to the room from the world of his troubled mind by her sudden question. He looks at her, green eyes clear and without judgement, his heavy words sticking to the back of his throat like tar. 

“Will he get better?” He asks, catching the look of surprise she gives him before she turns her eyes away. She doesn’t answer at first, focused on his hair and picks some strands from his clothes before finally speaking again. 

“I don’t know,” she admits but there’s something to her voice that makes Bard suspect she knows more than she wants him to know. “Having you here helps,” she then says and shoots him a soft smile. “No matter what happens, always remember that.” 

He nods in agreement and sighs when she takes a step back to give him one more good look, nodding and humming to herself in approval. 

“It will have to do,” she then teases and meets his eyes before heading for the door. He only smiles at her, following her closely so that he doesn’t lose his way. The castle is vast, larger than what he imagined when he first came there. Sticking to someone who knows their way is always preferable.

They walk in silence, nodding cheerfully at other servants making their way toward the ballroom around them. Bard has met people the last few days he’d never even seen around the castle before, seen pale faces of all those who stayed behind but gave up on ever being heard again, until Bard came along. He smiles at them, noticing sparks in their eyes rekindle and realizing his presence might mean more to them than he originally thought. He wishes they would tell him why, but judging by the way Tauriel treats the subject, he suspects no one will. He looks at her now, her back straight and proud, a small smile jerking at the side of her mouth and he realizes he feels guilty too. He has been enjoying his time here, more than he thought possible, but he will have to go back home soon, to his children, and all of this will have to be left behind. He knows he shouldn’t feel bad about this, knows Thranduil will understand but at the same time, he can’t help but feel like he’s betraying them all somehow. 

“You have that worried look again,” Tauriel says as they’re approaching the wing where the ball is to be held. She says it matter of factly, as if it doesn’t bother her, but he catches the look she gives him and it is not an unfeeling one. “Tell me.” 

“I don’t want to leave,” he says before he thinks it through, before the thought is even known to him. But it’s true. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t care if the castle is run down, water dripping through the ceilings, he doesn’t care that the master of the keep is a monster at first glance. All he knows is that he doesn’t care about any of that, and he doesn’t want to leave. 

“Then don’t,” she replies, her voice low and she stops, so suddenly Bard doesn’t notice at first. When he does, he has to turn back to look at her. 

They’re standing in a small passage and he can hear the music already pouring out from the ballroom, hear the murmur of voices in the distance. He wonders, just for a second, if this is how Thranduil experiences it, only this is what he will hear when he’s standing in the midst of it all. That guilt courses through his body as he thinks about leaving him to this, this echo of a life, to turn into something worse than he is now. But mixed in with that guilt is a growing sorrow too, he can feel it more clearly now. He doesn’t want Thranduil to suffer, of course not, but part of him is starting to realize that maybe he himself would suffer too. 

“You don’t have to leave,” Tauriel says and Bard meets her eyes. She sounds less calm now, more eager and there’s a light shining in her eyes he’s never seen there before. “You can stay, you can bring your children here too, Bard. There’s no reason you cannot stay.” 

Bard laughs a little at her eagerness. He doesn’t know what to say but feels his chest tighten at the thought of it, his children in this place, having dinners with Thranduil. The thought is both endearing and amusing, as he has no idea how his children would take to the strange hairy man their father is so fond of. Fond of. He repeats it to himself as he reaches out to take her hand instead of speaking, coaxing her forward until they’re moving toward the ballroom again, in silence. 

He was the one to clean out the ballroom, together with Thranduil of course, but he still isn’t prepared for the splendor that meets him when they open the doors and see it for the first time. The floors have been polished and are gleaming in the light of hundreds, possibly thousands, of candles which have been placed all around the large room. There are garlands and leaves hanging from the walls and to one side sits a small group of servants playing the harp and other fine instruments. Bard just stands there, momentarily awestruck, as people all around him laugh and head off to dance already. Then he looks about the room more thoroughly, past the beautiful dresses and laughing faces, and although you’d think a tall beast would be easy to spot in a room like this, Thranduil is nowhere to be seen. As usual, it is as if Tauriel knows what he’s thinking and she puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“He will be here,” she says and squeezes gently. “Men like him just need a long time to get themselves ready.” 

“Men like him?” Bard grins weakly and reaches out for a glass of some sparkling wine to calm his sudden nerves. She is about to answer him when Mithrandir makes his way toward them through the crowd, looking harassed and sweaty. 

“Tauriel, my dear,” he says, out of breath and Bard can see the worry growing on her face. “Come with me will you, I, he… he doesn’t…” Mithrandir trails off when he catches Bard looking and Tauriel sighs. 

“Come on,” she says and hands the man the glass she’s snached from a tray. “Drink this, then spit it out.” 

Mithrandir does what he’s told but after finishing the drink he leans forward and whispers to her what it is he has to say. She doesn't look concerned, which Bard is glad for, but she sighs in exasperation and shakes her head. Bard looks for somewhere to put his glass down, preparing to come with her as she clearly is about to go see to her master but she only smiles and shakes her head again. 

“No,” she says and stills him with a hand on his. “You stay here.” 

“But isn’t it easier if I…” Bard begins but she cuts him off. 

“Sure, you can speak to him and he can hear you,” she says and maybe there’s a slight bit of scorn in her voice as she says it. “But I know him and how to deal with him by now. Besides, he’s probably naked and needs advice on what to wear,” she adds with a grin and Bard feels shame all the way down to his knees as he realizes just how obvious his red cheeks must be. “And I’m not sure you can help with that.” 

She strides off, Mithrandir following closely behind her and all Bard can do is stand there and watch them go. He finishes his drink and blames the alcohol for making his face warm. He doesn’t usually drink on an empty stomach and as the feeling refuses to go away, he heads over to the table with refreshments to see if there’s anything there that might help. There isn’t, but he picks out some nice looking things to eat and then resigns himself to watching as people dance. He gets asked to dance a couple of times and he’s flattered, but he declines. Somehow he feels disconnected from the people around him, especially now that everyone he knows is off somewhere else. Dancing with someone he doesn’t know, while not knowing whether Thranduil is even going to join him later, feels strange and he drinks another glass instead. 

After a while, probably just a few minutes but it feels like at least an hour, he spots Galion in the crowd. He’s dancing with a man Bard has never seen before and he decides that watching them is as good a distraction he can get, so he does. They seem completely enveloped in the dance, which is a quick one with a lot of swirls that Bard can’t quite follow and he grins to himself at the thought of the mess he would have made if he’d agreed to dance to it himself. But Galion is firm and calm and he moves across the floor like he was made for it, a fond smile on his face as the other man wraps his arms closer around him. Bard is struck by the sudden realization that maybe he shouldn’t be looking at them. They are in the midst of everyone else, dancing in front of everyone else, but their shared moment of tenderness seems too private for someone to pay them so much attention. He looks away as Galion leans in toward the other man and feels his cheeks burn again, which is quite uncharacteristic for him. It must be the alcohol, he says to himself again and straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the wall when the door on the second level opens. It had been closed until now, so others also look up to see who’s emerging and Bard completely forgets about his own embarrassment when he does.

Thranduil is standing on the balustrade, one hand already resting on the rail of the staircase and the other correcting the soft, flowing fabric of his gown, almost as if he was unaware of the attention his entrance has drawn. Bard doesn’t reflect on the fact that he is literally the only person Thranduil can see, and thus does not worry about how intently he’s staring at his host. His crown of antlers is bejeweled and glints in the light from the candles as he bends his head, the gown he wears reaches to the floor and is made if what looks like pure starlight and dark, flowing river water. Bard has forgotten how to breathe but he doesn’t care as he takes a few steps closer to the bottom of the stairs. The music has stopped and the people on the dancefloor have all parted, something Bard isn’t noticing as he approaches the steps. He doesn’t know how it will affect him when Thranduil looks up, what his gaze will do to him or if he will feel anything at all but for another breathless moment he realizes he would give anything for those pale grey eyes to look his way. And Thranduil does. Of course he does. 

For a long moment they just stand there, eyes locked, bodies unmoving. The crowd of people, who were chatting and enjoying themselves, all fade away and soon there is no one but the two of them in the room. Possibly in the world. Thranduil is smiling down at him and Bard suddenly feels faint, gasps for breath in a way that’s anything but dignified but he masks it as a cough. For a moment he breaks eye contact and within two heartbeats Thranduil has moved to stand right before him, concern in his eyes as he searches Bard’s face. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. How can a cough, masking the lack of skill in breathing, make someone so worried. Bard thinks as he looks back up, smiling back into grey pools of light and he wishes, for longer than a second, that no one else was there. That the two of them could just be alone. Right here. 

“I’m fine, now,” Bard assures and it sounds just as cheesy as he thought it might but it earns him a smile from Thranduil that could melt winter ice and he regrets nothing. “What took you so long?” he asks then, eyes unable to look away now but he can tell Thranduil is relaxing, his body moving ever so slowly toward him still, down the last couple of steps. He must have rushed to his side just now. Bard is sad he missed that. 

“I couldn’t decide what to wear,” Thranduil answers casually but Bard sees the flitter of emotion across his face, the discomfort and the worry. He cannot presume to know exactly what Thranduil thinks but surely, for a king that used to throw parties in his youth, getting dressed up brings many memories to the surface. Memories one does not want to associate with a good time. Bard blinks slowly, uses the action as a way to force himself to look away, eyes falling to follow the sharp jut of Thranduil’s jaw, lingering only for a moment at sharp teeth before he takes in the fabric, the way it sneaks around Thranduil’s waist as if the robe was molded to him, the way he knows his own arms will fit so well around him if he dares. He looks back up. Drowns. Breathes anyway. 

“You look beautiful,” he manages, air filling his lungs, squaring his chest. He’s shorter but strong and Thranduil’s eyes are wide and relieved and Bard isn’t lying. “You look stunning, really,” he continues, affirms, and Thranduil smiles. It’s the softest smile he’s ever shown and Bard finds that he likes this one the most. He’s aware of his own tunic and feels almost underdressed in comparison but then again, this party isn’t for him. Not really. He feels that burning sensation in his hands again, imagines reaching up to bury his fingers in anything soft he can reach. He knows now, it’s clearer than it was last night, that all he wants to do is close the distance between them, be close, no matter how complicated, no matter the consequences. But he remembers Thranduil’s reaction, the sorrow on his face as he tore from Bard and left the room the last time. He doesn’t want to cause him more harm, rip at wounds that haven’t healed properly, that might never heal at all. So instead he smiles, and is just about to speak again when he is made aware of the music around him, the chatter of party guests and he remembers they’re not alone. 

“You look beautiful, too,” Thranduil then says and Bard smiles, his chest clenching tightly and his lungs heavy again. It sounds so casual when he says it, as if it doesn’t hurt him to admit it. Maybe that means something, Bard thinks but doesn’t let himself hope. But before he has time to reply he feels soft fur against his hand and a claw gently nudges against his fingers, asking for permission. He gives it without looking down, gooseflesh rushing up his arm as he lets his hand be grasped. “I can’t quite hear the music,” Thranduil then says, eyes bright but his voice quiet as he takes a step closer, the air around Bard swirling for a moment and when he breathes he can almost taste him in the air. “But if you lead, I’d love to dance.” 

Bard takes breath after breath, deep and steady, yet it feels like he’s getting no air at all. Thranduil’s body is massive this close, his palm warm and soft and his eyes so kind, Bard can do nothing but stare. What a fool he must seem like, he registers thinking as he tries to swallow, tries to force himself to speak. A fool that’s left breathless and silent by the mere presence of this man before him. The seconds ticking away feel like minutes, even hours and the only thing bringing stability to his swirling mind is that warm palm against his own. 

“I’m not sure I know the steps,” he eventually manages, feeling silly because of course he knows the steps, he’s just not quite sure if he can remember them right now. Thranduil laughs gently, closing the distance between them even further and Bard feels his chest ache to be close, ache to press up against Thranduil’s firm body no matter who watches. 

“Even if you step on my feet,” Thranduil muses and breaks eye contact just for a moment as he looks down between them to his hooved feet. “I won’t be hurt.”

“Well,” Bard sighs, meaning for it to sound just as teasing and amused as Thranduil just did but he just sounds breathless. “If you put it that way, I’d love to.” 

“Good,” Thranduil smiles and before Bard has a chance to collect himself, Thranduil leans in, down toward him and rests their foreheads together, gently, softly and Bard’s knees tremble so suddenly that he has to steady himself with a firm grip on Thranduil’s upper arm. “Are you alright?” Thranduil of course asks and, feeling silly once more, Bard nods and locks eyes with him again, determined to not make a fool of himself from this point forward. 

“Never better,” he answers and squeezes the hand he’s holding before gently guiding it to his own shoulder, clasping the other close to his chest, refusing to let cold air rush between them again. Thranduil follows him steadily, willingly and his eyes are wide and bright when Bard lets his right hand slide along the curve of his chest, his waist and rest right where it should, the fabric soft against his palm. He can feel the heat pool from Thranduil’s body, and even as they move backwards, out into the open circle that is the dance floor, Bard can’t stop thinking about what it would have been like if no fabric was between them. 

He takes a deep breath again before moving to the music. It feels easy to lead, moving to the music and looking at nothing but Thranduil, his solid form, his deep eyes, the smile on his face. It might have been a better idea to pay more attention to the dance floor and the people on it, but Bard realizes after a moment that he doesn’t have to. No one else is dancing, they’re all standing around the room, giving space. He feels heat growing in his chest, nervousness possibly, but he shakes it off as Thranduil leans closer, chest to chest, resting his temple against Bard’s. 

“I’m sorry I was late,” he mumbles there, voice low and coarser than usual, puffs of his breath trickling down Bard’s cheek, his neck and it feels like a cascade of warm, pleasant water runs from that spot to pool at the base of his spine. He knows a breath, much like a gasp, escapes him but he does nothing to mask this one. Instead he lets his hand move to reach around Thranduil’s back, palm splayed, grip firm. 

“You’re here now,” he mumbles back, wondering if his breath against Thranduil’s bent neck does the same to him, makes him feel weak, the way Bard feels. “That’s all that matters.” 

“Thank you,” Thranduil replies and Bard is sure he means for more than this dance. He doesn’t know how to respond but tightens his hold on Thranduil’s back, leans in closer to rest his forehead against his strong shoulder, breathing in deeply through the nose. Forest, earth, autumn leaves, heat. Home. 

The silence stretches between them as the music continues. Bard doesn’t care when the song changes, doesn’t stop when it ends. Thranduil doesn’t complain as they move, only stays close, so close the pool of heat in Bard’s body doesn’t die. When a song he knows starts playing, Bard gently hums along and for a moment he can feel Thranduil tensing, then he relaxes again, a shudder going through his body as Bard keeps on humming. He doesn’t say a thing, but Bard understands that hearing the music, even just a little bit, must make him feel all kinds of things in this moment. 

“That was beautiful,” Thranduil says, voice deeper than before, when Bard takes a small break to breathe. 

“We both know my singing voice isn’t quite fitting for a performance before a king,” Bard answers, teasing but he regrets it as Thranduil straightens his neck to be able to look at him. He wants him close again but of course, he can’t do anything to change this as he drowns again, helpless in those eyes. They have slowly come to a halt, in the midst of the now dancing crowd. 

“This king disagrees,” he says, his free hand, the one not tightly clasped in Bard’s against their chests, reaches up slowly between them, fingers gently stroking the scruff of his jaw, a soft, clawed thumb reaching the edge of Bard’s bottom lip and it is like fire spreads from that one point. Bard can’t help but let his eyes fall shut, just for a moment, savoring the heat, the slight pressure of Thranduil’s finger against his soft skin. He hears the gasp leave Thranduil’s body before he opens his eyes again and when he does, he catches Thranduil watching him, watching his lips move beneath that unsteady thumb. Slowly he seems to notice Bard is watching him and he makes a movement as if to pull his thumb away but the strongest urge Bard has ever felt in his own body wants him to stay close. And so he parts his lips, ever so slightly and Thranduil doesn’t move away, eyes back to rest there as Bard feels a tremor go through Thranduil’s body, a tremor mirrored in his own as that thumb pushes gently against him again, brushing momentarily against the tip of Bard’s tongue and Bard has never felt more proud of himself as he watches Thranduil melt before his eyes. His eyes go misty and lidded as he looks back up to meet Bard’s gaze and Bard smiles as he places a small, soft kiss on Thranduil’s finger, his own body delightfully warm at the sight of Thranduil’s reactions. He straightens his back slightly, Thranduil’s thumb resting just below his lips now but their eyes locked, Thranduil’s chest heaving against his own. 

“Please don’t leave,” Thranduil breathes before Bard can say anything at all. It’s unclear if he means he doesn’t want Bard to back away from him or if he means leaving the castle but Bard only smiles, not backing away further. 

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles back as Thranduil’s strokes his cheek on its way to rest around his neck, claws tickling at the base of his hair where it nestles. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I'm so sorry for the very very late update! Thank you for sticking around :)

Thranduil’s body aches from being on his feet for so long but its such a good ache that he doesn’t mind. They must have been dancing for hours but it feels like minutes at the same time and for a moment, just a short, fluttering moment, Thranduil was able to forget it all. Forget the castle crumbling to pieces all around him, forget the eyes of the servants that must be glued to them as they dance, forget falling petals and heartbreak and agony and his mind slipping slowly into nothingness. He pulls Bard closer, buries his nose in the bend of his neck and breathes in all the scents that are him, slowly, deeply, until Bard laughs, a deep, rumbling laugh that makes Thranduil dizzy. He wishes he could stay lost like this forever, but as he thinks that, it all comes back, like a thick flood in his gut that makes him cold and constricts his chest. He’s indulging in something he isn’t allowed to even touch, to spoil the way he spoils everything else. He struggles with the feeling, wants to pull away from Bard’s strong arms like he did the day before, but the need to stay close is overwhelming. He sighs, deep and heavy and Bard’s fingers clasp his hand tighter and when he does that, it is like Thranduil could do anything. 

“I think,” he begins, not sure if he was actually thinking much at all, but aware that his legs have grown weak and his head spins. “Maybe we can step out for a while?” 

“Of course,” Bard says but he doesn’t let go. Thranduil waits for the cold air to rush in between them, separate them and keep them separated but it doesn’t come, not like he’d imagined it. Bard leans back slightly and smiles, still holding Thranduil’s hand in his and his eyes are warm, gentle, happy. It’s contagious, Thranduil realizes as he smiles too, even as Bard moves away. But the air doesn’t separate them. Bard moves so slowly his heat stays close, arm still resting against the small of Thranduil’s back as he leads him toward the staircase and Thranduil follows, through the dancing lights and shapes around them that he can’t quite see. 

The room upstairs seems calm enough, although he can’t be a good judge of it. Still, Bard takes him through the back door toward the small balcony and Thranduil smiles as he realizes he’d forgotten all about this place. He tries to tell himself he’s forgotten because this castle is huge, even though something tells him that might not be the whole reason why. Bard smiles and lets go of his hand then, and there’s that cold rush of air and Thranduil has to force a smile as he’s left there, the chill of the night creeping in close to his body. Before Bard, Thranduil was used to being alone, had grown accustomed to the sound of his own voice and his own footsteps echoing through his crumbling halls. But now, with Bard so close, so real he can be touched, Thranduil can’t stand the silence, not even the night sounds of the forest out here can calm him when he knows Bard’s voice. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Bard smiles as he comes back outside a moment later, holding glasses of steaming mulled wine and Thranduil takes a deep breath of relief. I’m not alone, he tells himself as he accepts the glass, fingers brushing against Bard’s for a second longer than what might have been intended, eyes meeting over the rim as they both drink. 

“I can take care of myself,” he lies and it earns him one of Bard’s many laughs. Thranduil leans against the rail of the balcony, eyes on Bard even though the view behind his back should be beautiful enough to distract him. Bard watches a bird with interest and Thranduil smiles as he takes another sip of warm wine. He knows this might not last, shouldn’t last, Bard deserves better but he has been dreading the moment all of this will end and it hasn’t come. If anything they’ve grown closer, when they should have grown apart with every breath Bard takes. He wonders quietly to himself why that is? Bard, who had every reason to hate him, be disgusted by him, has chosen to stay here, been close to him in a way no one has been since before the curse, before... Bard is good, a good man and a good father and maybe he stays out of pity but even though Thranduil might be losing his mind to this beast at least he isn’t stupid. He knows affection when he sees it, and its inherently different from pity. When Bard turns from the bird and meets his eyes, Thranduil sees the affection there so clearly it takes his breath away. So why is that? How can someone like Bard feel any kind of affection for someone like him?

“What?” Bard asks, grinning after a moment of silence between them and Thranduil lowers his gaze quickly. He’s become prone to staring as of late. 

“You amaze me,” he answers, looking back up at Bard through his lashes in an attempt to make the statement less clear in its intent. Masking what it is he really wants to say. “You’re amazing, Bard.” 

“I’m really not,” Bard replies but he moves closer, just a little but Thranduil can tell. The air between them is heating up again, and he can see the twitch of Bard’s finger as it reaches to nudge against one of Thranduil’s claws. The touch sends shivers down Thranduil’s spine and he sighs, fingers flexing enough to nudge back. “But I’m glad you think so,” Bard continues, their eyes still locked as he takes Thranduil’s hand in his again, finally. They stand like that for a moment, just looking at each other in the moonlight, the wind ruffling Bard’s hair, chilling them both to the bone but the air between them is warm. 

Then Bard sighs and moves to lean against the rail next to Thranduil, releasing his hand softly but staying close. Thranduil tells himself that this is good too, even though his fingers ache and his hand flexes by his side. After some silence, comfortable silence, Bard leans his head against Thranduil’s shoulder and as the shivers spread down his back, Thranduil reaches and places an arm around his shoulders. He feels the muscles momentarily tense beneath him but Bard quickly relaxes. They stand like this for a moment, watching birds cross the quickly darkening sky as snowflakes start falling. Thranduil breathes deeply, realizing his chest feels lighter than it has in a long time. 

“Bard,” he says after another moment of silence and he feels Bard shifting to look up at him. “Are you happy here, with me?” 

Bard’s hand moves slowly to rest against his stomach but the warmth of it is still so sudden Thranduil feels his insides jump in surprise. Bard doesn’t answer immediately but Thranduil almost doesn’t notice as he focuses on that warm hand, just resting against the fabric of his robe, as if it was meant to rest there, right below his heart. That something so small, like the touch of someone’s fingers, can feel so momentous and heartbreakingly comforting at the same time. 

“Yes,” Bard then says but the tone of his voice is hesitant and although his warm hand its still there, Thranduil feels cold growing in the pit of his stomach as he turns his head to look down at him. Bard is staring into the distance, a vacant expression Thranduil has seen on his face before and he understands, better than Bard might think. 

“But you miss your children?” he asks, knowing the answer before Bard nods and he smiles when their eyes meet again. “Tell me about them?” 

“My kids?” Bard asks, sounding surprised but there’s a softness to his eyes when he obliges. “Last time you asked me I wasn’t sure what to tell you but usually I can’t stop talking about them,” he says and Thranduil can’t help but chuckle. 

“I am the same,” he only says and squeezes Bard’s shoulder as gently as he can, being careful of not letting his claws get too eager. 

“Sigrid, you’ve already met,” Bard smiles and Thranduil nods. “She’s my oldest and more skilled with the bow than me, so intelligent I can’t believe it sometimes. She certainly doesn’t get that from me. And she’s such an adult already…” Bard trails off for a moment and sighs before he continues. “She’s only fifteen and so strong, in body sure but she’s got nerves of steel and really she shouldn’t have to be strong for me. Bain, he thinks he has to be the man of the house even though I’m still there. I wonder what that says about me… He doesn’t want to lose me, like we lost their mother I suppose.”

“That I can understand,” Thranduil says but his voice sounds thicker than he intended it to and he clears his throat. Bard seems lost in his own thoughts but soon continues again. 

“He cooks—first time I let him into the kitchen I thought we were in for disaster. He was maybe six years old and I stood at the ready with a sand bucket in case the house would catch fire, but he cooked the most excellent potatoes and fish stew… I’m not sure it was as good as I remember it being but the memory seems as clear to me as if it happened yesterday. He gets so excited whenever I bring home something other than fish though, grabs it and starts cooking immediately as if it is the only thing he wants to do in life. I don’t mind indulging him, he’s got so little else to look forward too.” 

“Who’s your third then?” Thranduil asks, amused when Bard looks up at him in surprise. 

“You remember?” 

“Of course I remember. You have to understand how intently I listen to every word you say when your voice is literally the only voice I can hear.” Thranduil muses and something coy comes over Bard’s face then. 

“Way to make a guy feel special,” he says and pushes gently with his hand splayed out over Thranduil’s chest. “And here I thought you listened to me because I’m special.” 

“You are special,” Thranduil hurries to clarify, but grins to make sure it is clear that this is only playful banter. Bard smiles, something serious over the way his face relaxes into a softer expression. “Your third is a girl, correct?” Thranduil says then, feeling heat rising and flowing through his veins, making him almost dizzy and in desperate need of going back to the point of the conversation. 

“Yes, Tilda. We have at least four cats living in our house because she keeps bringing them home, running off the first chance she gets, always ending up in trouble and possibly bringing another animal home with her. But even though she stresses me out to the point of no return, she also has this amazing way of calming me back down again. She always knows just what to say, how to solve my problems and stroke my hair…” 

Silence falls and Thranduil swallows the hard lump in his throat, tries to focus on the warmth of Bard’s body next to his. He’s tried, for years, to remember what it used to be like to be a father. He always thought he would remember the little things, but as the days bled into years even the face of his son started to wither. It has angered him, caused him endless sleepless nights, writhing in agony at a loss he never thought he would have to endure. He remembers soft hair between his fingers, softer than Bard’s and longer too. He remembers echoes of laughter and how Legolas used to shoot with the bow but none of that really matters. Not as much as being able to recall his face, the sound of his voice. He’s hit with the sudden reality of the situation before him, the fact that he has taken a father from his children and robbed both him and them off each other's love and company. How could he have thought this was an acceptable thing for him to do? A crime of this magnitude only proves that what the enchantress had said all those years ago was true. He thought of no one but himself and his own happiness. Even the happiness of his own son had been lost on him as he pushed him away. How could he have possibly thought that the affection Bard showed him was anything but a survival mechanism. Probably driven by some kind of mutual understanding, but a way to survive nonetheless. 

Thranduil’s chest feels constricted, as if his lungs are tightly fastened in a vice, and he tries to hide the tremor that spreads throughout his body by releasing Bard’s strong shoulder and stretching slightly, as if he’s gotten stiff. He doesn’t know what to say, or even if his voice will carry if he tries. Bard looks at him with a smile, such a genuine one that it shatters the walls Thranduil is desperately trying to rebuild in his mind. He cannot be allowed feel for this man as deeply as he does. If he truly cares for him he should of course let him leave, encourage him to do so, even. But the thought of returning to a life without Bard in the castle is like the feeling of lowering himself into the stream outside his walls, icy cold and paralyzing. He knows that letting him go will be the end for him, for all of them, knows that asking him to leave will crush all chances of ever breaking the curse. And yet, asking him to stay, knowing Bard would say yes only to survive would only delay the inevitable.

“I would like to bring them here, some day,” Bard suddenly says and what remains of the makeshift barrier Thranduil so haphazardly started building crumbles once more. Bard is smiling and reaches out for Thranduil’s hand, fingers lacing between his with no regard for the sharp edges of his claws. Thranduil wants to tear away, to hiss and claw at himself for letting it come to this. For allowing himself to hope, even for a second that this might be something more. But Bard’s voice is soft and his eyes without judgement as he pulls at Thranduil to come closer. “Fix this place up, eat dinner around the table, watch my daughter beat me at the arrow range. You know, I think with a bit of laughter, this place could really be something.” 

He pauses, looks curiously at Thranduil as if he’s expecting an answer but there are no words that can describe the inner turmoil Thranduil is experiencing. Bard’s children? Staying at the castle? What in the world could have given Bard the notion that this is a good idea? Bard’s smile grows wider and before Thranduil can steel himself, Bard’s fingers rest against his cheek. His palm is so warm Thranduil can’t do anything else but close his eyes. He hears Bard almost laugh in response. 

“Do you like the sound of that?” he says, and his warm thumb gently strokes the elongated shape of his jawline. “Because I do.” 

Thranduil is lost, for what feels like hours, in the sensation of Bard’s fingers against his fur, his body as he comes closer, fills the cold space in front of him as if he was always supposed to occupy it. His heart aches with every desperate beat, reaches for Bard and his affection like his life depended on it. Maybe that is the truth. Maybe without him, Thranduil would truly perish within these walls. He sighs and lets the shivers run unhindered down his spine as Bard’s fingers move to nestle there, as he pulls them closer and closer until Bard’s breath is closer to his skin than it ever has been before. 

“I…” Thranduil tries, one last attempt at fighting this, for Bard’s sake, but he fails and loses the battle he never even wanted to fight. Not really. His arms tentatively reach to wrap around Bard’s shoulders, exposing his heart and his lungs to the death strike he believes he deserves, but which never comes. 

“It’s alright,” Bard whispers, and although Thranduil can’t look at him, he can hear the smile on his lips. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Thranduil.” 

Bard’s lips against his cheek burn like ice and fire all at once. The sound escaping Thranduil’s throat is entirely unwillingly and as a reflex he digs his claws into the nearest surface. His heart skips a beat as Bard hisses, sharp edges digging into the soft skin of his neck. Thranduil wants to apologize, but he can hear Bard chuckling at the base of his throat and the sound washes away all guilt. He sighs again, feels dizzy and tired, yet filled with life at the same time. He wants to act, wants to be able to move, touch him, hold him, pull him close. But his muscles are trembling and his body feels weak and Bard’s voice is like silk as he laughs and Thranduil suddenly realizes he would do anything for this man. To be able to hold him close, feel his breath against his neck like he does right at this moment. He wants to speak, to tell him how Bard being there has made him feel more alive than he ever has in his life, wants to whisper his name and make him shudder to the core. But Bard acts before he has the strength to make himself move. 

Bard’s arms, now wrapped tightly around Thranduil’s chest and back, pull him so close Thranduil can feel every inch of Bard’s body. The sensation is blinding but the kiss more so. Bard’s lips are the softest he’s ever tasted, pressing against Thranduil’s lips and he forgets for the briefest of moments that his lips are different from what they used to be, that they are probably unlike any lips Bard has ever kissed before. Instead all he can do is relax in Bard’s arms as he doesn’t pull away, lips lingering against Thranduil’s for what seems like an eternity and still not long enough. As Bard leans away, Thranduil manages to open his eyes and he looks deep into Bard’s brown ones. Lost. Amazed that such a man exists. 

Like death it hits him then. So suddenly he loses his balance and has to lean on Bard to remain upright. The joyful expression on Bard’s face is quickly changed to concern as he helps Thranduil sit down on one of the benches out on the terrace. Thranduil feels the quivering in his chest, can feel the petal fall within him as if he was part of that flower himself. It shakes him, breaks him and he looks up into Bard’s gentle eyes only to grip his chest and dig his claws into his own skin to try to defuse the sensation of loss he feels every time a petal falls. 

“What’s wrong?” Bard asks, urgency in his voice but fingers calm and steady as they reach out to gently stroke Thranduil’s cheek. 

Thranduil closes his eyes and lets the feeling wash over him, eventually ebbing away until it is no more than a faint echo of a sensation. Where it always is. Petals falling have always been painful to him but recently, they leave him aching and breathless. He anchors himself by leaning his cheek against Bard’s strong hand, feeling him shift as he too sits down on the bench, hand still there. He tries not to think of the implications of this moment, what it truly means that the petal fell right when Bard kissed him. It might not mean a thing but… 

“I’m sorry,” he replies after a moment and he hears Bard sigh. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.” He tries to conjure humor in his voice but it comes in flat between his labored breaths. 

“What happened?” Bard only asks, his hand slipping from Thranduil’s cheek to rest over his heaving chest. “Can I help?”

“It’s just… It happens,” is all he can say, the words not forming properly when trying to speak of this curse of his. Or maybe it is because of something else this time. Worrying about what basic functions he will lose this time is something he can do later. Instead, he tries to remember the feeling from only a moment ago; Bard’s lips against his own. 

“You kissed me,” he says, not intending to say it out loud but Bard laughs, a little bit strained because of the circumstances, but instinctual and pure. 

“I did,” he replies and Thranduil sighs as he feels warm lips against his cheek. “Do you mind?” 

“No,” Thranduil replies, maybe a little bit too quickly. “No,” he repeats, more calmly and feels himself smiling. “More of that, I’d say.” 

He can feel Bard’s chest vibrating as he chuckles, feels their bodies meld together as they lean against each other. Down below them, inside the ballroom, the music from the party drifts up even audible to Thranduil’s ears. Maybe him being in close proximity to Bard makes the music carry? He sighs and closes his eyes, tries to relax even though he knows he’s running out of time. Maybe it’s better this way? To go while he has someone with him, someone who at least seems to care even though those feelings might be guided by survival instinct more than anything else. 

He then remembers something. A small token of appreciation he might show this man that has sacrificed everything to stay in this crumbling castle, thinking of nothing but the safety of his children. He straightens, feels his back ache in protest as he elongates his spine. The urge to hunch forward, maybe even reach his hands toward the ground is stronger these days. He pushes the thought aside and smiles down at Bard, now that he’s standing tall in front of him. 

“Would you care to leave this party and join me in my rooms?” he asks, indenting for it to be innocent enough because in this moment Bard seeing his children again is the only thing on Thranduil’s mind. He quickly realizes his mistake, however, when he sees Bard’s wide eyes and surprised expression. He thinks back at what he’s asked, turns the words over in his head until he realizes with hot blood rising in his chest what he has just suggested. For a moment, he thinks maybe he should correct himself, make sure Bard knows he meant no offense and certainly didn’t mean to suggest they should go to his room and get into bed together. Then the mental image is suddenly crystal clear before his eyes and he can’t stop it from evolving, gaining life, making his body shift its weight from hoof to hoof as heat pools between his thick thighs. Forget the bed, even. Getting into bed might be too far of a walk. So, why should he explain this was not what he had meant? Bard might not want anything like that, the kiss might have been nothing more than a kiss. If Bard was uninterested, surely he had integrity enough to point this out to him? At which point Thranduil could assure him of what his actual intention had been, no harm done. But if Bard is just as keen as him, why should Thranduil apologize for the blunder of his words? 

Bard is still looking at him with wide eyes, his tongue, pink and warm, quickly wetting his bottom lip as Thranduil watches. The heat won’t go away now, the surge of it so strong that Thranduil believes he might have to sit back down if he isn’t allowed to move soon. Bard’s eyes, they’re both a blessing and a curse in this moment. Because where his words seem to fail him momentarily, his eyes fall down the length of Thranduil’s body, lingering for a moment too long somewhere around his hip before he looks back up to meet Thranduil’s gaze. 

“If you don’t want to,” Thranduil begins after a moment, feeling it stretch too long and too painful between them but to his relief, Bard smiles. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” Bard asks, getting to his feet, suddenly standing so close to Thranduil that he forgets how to breathe. “Just, lead the way.” 

Thranduil does so, knees feeling weak and breathing labored when Bard grabs his hand, when he hears his steps follow him down the stairs. He knows people must be watching as they re-enter the ballroom, knows they must be whispering, maybe even pointing. But he doesn’t mind. Maybe slightly, knowing this will not be the salvation they’re all dreaming of, knowing he’s the only one who is aware of it. To them, Bard looks like a perfect opportunity, but Thranduil knows this has to be it. For Bard’s sake. For his children. 

He will show him the mirror, he thinks and smiles inwardly at the thought of Bard’s happiness when he gets to see his children again, showing them off to Thranduil as if they had no worries in the world. After that, whatever happens, happens. He cannot deny that he is, maybe for the first time in his long life, nervous about what is to come. Bard’s fingers laced with his own are a comfort, but the thought of them running down his body, beneath the safety of his garments, is both exhilarating beyond understanding and terrifying to him. He breathes in deeply when they round a corner, all alone, nearing his chambers and he can feel Bard’s fingers grip his tighter. 

“Thranduil,” he says, his voice calm but deeper than it usually is. The sound of it sends waves of shivers down Thranduil’s back and he stops, turns to look back at this man who has turned his existence completely upside down. 

“Yes?” he asks, feeling slightly faint as he catches a glimpse of the hunger in Bard’s eyes. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Bard asks, taking a couple of steps forward, closing the short distance between them which makes Thranduil lean against the wall in surprise, bodies so close he can feel the length of Bard’s thigh, is stomach, his heaving chest against his own. 

“I am the one who’s supposed to ask that,” Thranduil admits, catching the confusion fleeting over Bard’s face. “After all, look at me, then look at yourself…”

“Thranduil,” Bard smiles, leaning closer, looking deep into Thranduil’s eyes. “Haven’t I been quite clear with you the last couple of days, weeks even? Why is this something you feel you have to ask me?” 

Thranduil can’t answer that, can’t collect his thoughts quickly enough to process the information he has now received. Of course he has felt it between them, the tension and the heat, seen the way Bard has been searching for his gaze, fingers nudging against claws. And through all this, he himself has been looking away, has pulled his claws back in worry of hurting him, made Bard question what has been growing there, unuttered. He takes a deep, steadying breath, before he laces his fingers together with Bard’s, marveling at how they still seem to remember perfectly well how to do this so effortlessly, even though the rest of him is shaking. 

“Come,” is all he can say before he pushes off the wall again, Bard’s body still close to his, impossibly close, until they break apart to be able to keep walking. 

Thranduil does want this. If it is the last thing he does before his mind goes, before his body crumbles, giving in to gravity. Bard is smiling, he caught a glimpse of it when they left the hallways and now he can see it again when he throws quick glances his way. He is beautiful, this man who stumbled his way into Thranduil’s life. What were the odds of this man ending up right here, right now? 

The door to his rooms feels less heavy than usual as he pushes it open. Bard enters before him, a sigh of relief leaving him when they are finally alone. Thranduil understands, even though he of course has no idea how many servants actually showed up to the party. As Bard stands there, straight backed and strong, Thranduil falters slightly again. Not because Bard has been unclear with him, not at all. But because he doesn’t want to cause him pain, doesn’t want to bring him deeper into the pit of despair that this place has become. He stands there for a moment, just looking, taking in the shape of his body, imagining this being the last thing he sees before-- 

“Are you alright?” Bard asks, his eyes searching for Thranduil’s gaze again and Thranduil pulls himself back from anxiousness and hope with a shiver. “We could just have a drink?”

“You’re too considerate sometimes, did you know?” Thranduil signs and gestures to a small table to the side, where some bottles of fine alcohol has waited long enough for a celebratory moment. As Bard prepares some glasses, Thranduil moves over to one of the shelves in the room where he hasn’t been since before Bard showed up on his doorstep. The mirror is still there, of course. No one would dare to move it. It has become dusty and as he wipes the glass, the surge within his stomach is so strong he gasps for breath. He needs to see him again. The idea that he has forsaken the chance to see his son for the sake of a man is confusing to him, but at the same time he knows it makes perfect sense. A part of him had truly believed that Bard would be the one. But as it turns out, apparently he is not. Otherwise, shouldn’t something have happened by now? With a sting of loss, he whispers his name into the glass, eyes closed until he can feel the vibration through his fingers.

And suddenly: laughter. He opens his eyes and sees him, blond hair falling over his shoulders as he nuzzles his face into the red-brown hair of another, pale fingers twirling dark locks as he mumbles something Thranduil can’t hear. He’s beautiful, just like the day he saw him last. But he’s smiling. Thranduil cannot remember the last time he saw Legolas smile. He drinks him in, the sight of his piercing blue eyes, the braid falling with his long hair that definitely isn’t the kind of braid he has grown up braiding into his hair. Thranduil knows the moment he puts the mirror down, he will lose him again. The memory of his face, his voice, his laughter, will fade so quickly from his mind that he will wonder if he has dreamt it all. So he lingers, until he suddenly feels Bard’s hand against the small of his back. 

“Is that..?” he begins asking, and Thranduil nods. 

“Legolas, my son,” he smiles, before finally placing his hand against the mirror glass and it grows empty and cold, just like his mind. “I was thinking, maybe you wanted to try it?” 

“The mirror?” Bard muses and takes it when Thranduil holds it out to him. “What does it do, exactly?” 

“It…” Thranduil battles with his words momentarily, frustration bubbling within him before he can answer properly. “It will show you anything, anything you wish to see.”

Bard looks at him for a moment, a sadness in his eyes which Thranduil feels mirrored in his own chest. He knows Bard understands better than most what it must be like to know you can never hold your children again. Thranduil doesn’t want that for him. Needs him to know it is the opposite of what he would have ever wanted to do to someone. Least of all someone he cares for. 

“Just speak, and it will do as you ask.” 

Bard looks down at the mirror, seeing only his own reflection, Thranduil assums. He looks hesitant, as if he’s about to refuse the offer. Maybe he is scared of what he will see, worried his love for them will be so strong that finally seeing them again means not being able to stay. Thranduil wouldn’t blame him, won’t question if he asks to leave after this night is over. After all, it is for the best. Then Bard smiles a little, and speaks.

“I would like to see my children, please.” 

His request is much more courteous than Thranduil’s ever are, and he feels fondness grow within his chest. How can this man be real? In this cruel world, how can someone like him still exist? Not contaminated by the bad things that have happened to him, but strong and gentle, still not giving up on the life that has been given to him. 

Lights reflect against Bard’s face then, flashes of them that make Bard’s fond face quickly turn worried. Thranduil understands, because he feels the same worry in his chest and moves quickly to watch over Bard’s shoulder. It is late, small hours. Bard’s children might be home alone but at this hour he had been expecting them to be soundly in bed, their sleeping faces reassuring their father that they would be alright without him another couple of hours. Instead, there is a blur of lights and there’s a small kitchen, lit by candle light and a roaring fire in the stove. Sigrid is standing with a coat on, warming her hands by the fire with her blonde hair in a messy bun and eyes wide. The door opens behind her and she turns, expectantly, only for her whole face to turn even more worried than her father’s. Bane is standing in the doorway, winter coat on and snow in his hair. Thranduil doesn’t find this odd, as snow has been falling on and off over the castle for so long it is no surprise to him. But he hears Bard mumble in confusion, wiping the mirror as if to see if it is dust. 

“Nothing?” Sigrid asks, her voice muffled but audible. Bane only shakes his head and walks over to her, hands shaking as he pulls off his gloves, too big and bulky for a boy his size. His father’s gloves then, Thranduil realizes. “We can’t leave her out there all night!” Sigrid protests and when she sees the tears rolling down her brother’s red cheeks she wraps him up in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” she hushes and kisses the top of his head. “I just… It’s too cold, we have to find her, alright?” 

“I know,” Bane replies and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I looked all over town, she’s nowhere…” 

“What if she…” Sigrid begins and her voice is so muffled now that Bard gasps in desperation. The image is blurred, reaching its limits, like always. “Went after him? If she’s in that forest…” 

The mirror is fickle and hurts more to use than Thranduil cares to admit, but he had hoped it would give Bard some peace of mind. Instead, it has done the opposite. Bard stares at his reflection, Thranduil can see the horror in his beautiful eyes and he knows, then and there, what is about to happen. 

“Tilda…” Bard says, all but dropping the mirror if it hadn’t been for Thranduil’s hands catching it in mid air. “She’s out there, all by herself. But…” he breaks off and looks toward the staircase leading to the platform above. “It must be late July, August at most… Why is it so cold in the valley? Snow? She can’t be out all night in the cold, all alone!” 

“Then you must go to her,” Thranduil interrupts. Bard’s voice was desperate with anxiety, fear and anger, but as Thranduil speaks he falls silent, eyes wide when they look at each other. The moment stretches for a minute, possibly longer. Thranduil can hear his own heart beating hard and fast in his ears, the adrenaline from before converted into fear for this girl he has never met. 

“What about you?” Bard asks, pale and trembling in the light of the candles around the room. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Thranduil hurries and breaks eye contact, striding over to an alcove to retrieve Legolas’ old bow, not letting himself feel sentimental about handing it to someone else. After all, Bard isn’t just anyone. “You go be with your children, I am sure you will find her in no time. Make your way down the track from the castle, I will make sure my people keep a good lookout for her should she wander far enough into the forest.” He is already by the staircase, leading toward the door, holding the bow out for Bard. But Bard hasn’t moved. He’s just standing there, staring at Thranduil. 

“But I said I wouldn’t leave…” he begins, and to his own surprise, Thranduil laughs. 

“Don’t be silly,” he says and lowers the bow, reaching his free hand out to invite Bard in closer. He responds well to this, walks over to grasp Thranduil’s hand is if he would drown without it. “It was foolish of me to ever suggest I wanted to keep you from your children in the first place. Please go be with them, Bard, they need you and you need them.” 

“I’ll find her,” Bard nods, almost as if he is reassuring himself more than anyone else. “I will.”

“Of course you will,” Thranduil nods and sighs, pulling Bard in close, burying his muzzle in his neck to breath him in at least one more time, before it is too late. “I know you will.” 

“I’ll find her,” Bard repeats, fingers digging into the back of Thranduil’s robes, applying pressure to his already aching back but he doesn’t mind. The pain makes it feel more real. 

“Here,” Thranduil says, after slowly releasing Bard from his grip. He holds the mirror out to him and manages a smile he never thought he would have a chance of mustering. “Take this with you, so you’ll always have a way to look back, and remember me.” 

“But I’m coming back,” Bard replies, eyes still wide but determined. “I’m going to find her and then I’ll come back, I’ll bring them with me. I told you…” 

“You did,” Thranduil nods, his heart clenching so tightly he’s afraid it might burst. “But I might not…” He stops, unable to meet Bard’s eyes, not sure how he should be able to explain to the man he loves that he might not have that kind of time. That tonight might be the last. That if not now, then never is the only option. He feels Bard’s warm hand against his cheek, turning his head with determination behind the action but when their eyes meet he looks gentle, kind. 

“None of that,” Bard says, Thranduil catching his breath because this is what love feels like. The gut-wrenching, excruciating sensation of loving someone who is so close to him and yet so far beyond his reach that he could die from longing. “I’ll be back. No more than five days. We’ll pack up everything. Give me that, pelase? You can give me that, Thranduil.”

The last is a statement, not a question. Thranduil can do nothing but nod weakly, agreeing to something that at this moment feels close to impossible. Before he can gather enough self control to speak, Bard’s lips are pressed again his and the world falls away, if only for that one moment. One warm moment. Then it is over. Bard moves away and Thranduil scrambles for breath, for words, for anything as he whips around to follow Bard up the stairs. 

“Take it anyway,” he manages as they reach the top, reaching the mirror out again. “Just… Until we see each other again.”

Bard takes it, looks as if he might say something, ask something. But then he smiles, the worry wrinkles not gone from his forehead but his eyes fond again. He nods, tucking the mirror into the inner folds of his tunic. Thranduil nods as well, emotions welling up inside him that he thought he would never experience this strongly again. 

“I’ll be back,” Bard repeats, still smiling. “I promise.” 

“Five days,” Thranduil agrees, then remembers something he had been planning but completely forgot. He reaches into his garments, Bard following his movements with interest even though he must be itching to go. “Here,” Thranduil eventually says when he finds the small piece of paper he was looking for. “I was planning on giving this to you tonight but I suppose I waited too long for my moment. Go, get your children. Then read it.” 

“I will,” Bard nods and holds it tightly in his fist, across his heart. “I promise, I’ll come back for you.” 

“I know,” Thranduil smiles. 

And then he is gone. 

It is a remarkable feeling, having experienced so much joy and sense of loss in such a short amount of time. So much hope and disappointment that your head is left spinning and your heart might give up on you. Thranduil stumbles more than walks back down into his rooms, palms shaking as he tries to steady himself against the pillars of his prison. This is for the best, he tells himself again. For Bard, for his children. As he braces himself and climbs the staircase leading to the plateau above, hands and feet scraping against the rough stone floor, he realizes how ironic it is, that he in this moment has never been more certain in his affections toward Bard. Almost as if losing him means he doesn’t have to hold back any longer, doesn’t have to hide his emotions anymore. At least this way, he gets to spend what remains of his time remembering this feeling. 

The air is cold against his cheeks, snowflakes falling big and slow all around him. And there’s the silence. The silence only snow can bring about. And a curse. He hasn’t been up here in a while, his things strewn about and covered in snow. He doesn’t look at the rose, knows what he would see if he did. A single petal hanging precariously from the crown of the flower. Instead of looking its way, he walks to the edge, looks out across the forest, the air so full of snow that he can hardly see down to the ground from here. 

“Be safe,” he says, his voice hoarse and strained from emotion. Or something else.

Once again, he is truly alone.


End file.
